Frost Fair
by Measured
Summary: AU Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was for a bodyguard. Ike/Soren, Pelleas/Micaiah and Kyza/Ranulf.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Frost Fair (1/? Probably between 1/3 & 1/5)  
Day/Theme: 4 . 11 . I could be all that you want and more  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: No, I will never run out of crazy au ideas. Hush. So I wrote 99% of this part in January. I was hoping to post it as one very long oneshot, but I figure I'll break it up into pieces as I'm pretty fond of this verse and if I do this, I can be _ guilted into finishing it!_

_**.**  
_

Soren had been staring at the ceiling while he tried to excuse his way through the phone call. Alas, his mother accepted no excuses when it came to her telephone time. The building could be burning down around him, and he _still_ would get constant phone calls until he picked up again.

"Now, don't forget that your brother's wedding is coming up," she said.

"I'm busy," Soren said automatically.

"That excuse won't work on me, young man," she said, her voice taking an admonishing tone. He could just picture her finger waggling at the empty air as she talked.

"Your brother needs the vote of confidence."

Yes, because Soren was definitely the best person to help his brother's self esteem. Maybe he'd even open up a counseling job on the side.

"And can't you finally bring who you've been seeing? I'm impatient to meet her, already."

"Mother, I don't have some hidden lover. I am married to my job and I like it that way," Soren said in exasperation, his patience frayed. Maybe if he brought a stock portfolio and put it in the chair beside him people would get the message.

"There are two seats registered for you and I expect you to bring someone," she said crossly. "I won't be living much longer and I want to see _grandchildren_."

If only. Soren looked to the ceiling and counted to a very high number to lessen his patented Rage At The Mother.

"Pelleas is sure to give you some," he said finally.

"So, in my dying years I am to be consoled that only one child loved me enough to give me my one, tiny request of seeing this wonderful family line continued..."

A wonderful family line that was filled with maniacs. On both sides. Soren's opinion of the matter was that every member of the family should be sterilized just to prevent some megalomaniac from taking over the world.

"If you love me, you'd do it," she said, her voice taking on that cold tinge which his own so often mirrored. (Like most any child, he hated to think how much he resembled her in both looks and personality.)

"Yes, mother," he said just as coldly.

**.**

One of the hardest things about this farce was working the ad. How to put 'I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend, without actually acting affectionate at me, or hitting on anyone else. Oh, and for putting up with my family, I'll pay you.' Soren honestly couldn't think of a way that wasn't blunt to the point of being insulting. There was a reason he always let other people be in charge of advertising. As he was wont to do, Ranulf peered over his shoulder and broke into a

"You're hiring a girlfriend?" Ranulf said. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat at this news.

"For your information, it's sorely for my mother's expectations," Soren said.

"I could find you someone," Ranulf said. "I know lots of people. Lots and lots."

Soren shot him a look. "Not a chance."

"You could bring one of your workers? Call it overtime." Ranulf waggled his eyes.

"Because I strongly discourage any workers dating, and because I hate all my underlings. Not to mention that it could be taken the wrong way when I the contract ends. You already know this."

"It still had to be said," Ranulf said.

"Why do I put up with you again?" Soren said.

"Because I spill the secrets you need to hear?"

"And many I have no need to hear," Soren said.

"Or maybe it's my dashing good looks?" Ranulf said with a wink.

Soren just glowered at him.

"Then my connections with Gallia? Or the persistent and entirely true rumor that I'm a _beast_ in bed?"

Soren sighed. "It was a rhetorical question."

"Exactly," Ranulf said with a grin.

**.**

In the end, Soren made the details only slightly vague, and took it like he would any other interview – save for the fact that it was made at a restaurant. Soren liked things as orderly as possible. He would have taken them right there with no lunch involved, but Ranulf said that was taking it way too far and by some unnamed rules, he had to buy them dinner. For once, Soren actually listened.

The first girl was a thin, frail, pale and distinctly sickly looking. She huddled over the plate as if she might collapse into the table. He looked over her resume. Prior working in the traveling merchant guild, reason for leaving...illness, misunderstanding due to lost food stores...

"I'm so hungry.... When will the food come?"

She looked truly pathetic there, as if she were starving to death right on the spot. "There's an buffet. It's in the next room."

She perked up. "All you can eat?"

"Yes."

She pushed back the chair and left, taking some time at the buffet. When she returned, it was with a towering mountain of food that which she seemed to bend under the weight off. When she got it to the table, she dug into with a certain maddening glee. It disappeared quite fast, and she was off for another plate before he could even ask a question. This plate, heaped high with a little of everything disappeared as well with remarkable speed.

Soren could only gape. She burped and leaned back, then wiped at her mouth with a napkin. He wondered if there was any food left in the buffet at all.

"That was a great appetizer," she said.

Then her eyes fixed on the salad that he had ordered. They lit up again.

"Are you going to eat that?"

He pushed it over to her, and then checked mentally checked her off the list. He wasn't about to have the wedding cake 'mysteriously disappear' right before the ceremony.

**.**

His next applicant started invading Soren's precious personal space right away. She leaned in, with a sultry smile, and a good view of cleavage. Soren was unimpressed in both respects.

"Well aren't you a cutie. Pretty flat-chested, but your hair sure is lovely."

"...I'm male. Males of the species generally do have flat chests," Soren said.

She looked utterly disgusted. "Male? _Dammit_, this is the third time today. What is with the traps these days?"

She pushed her chair back, tossed her hair indignantly and left without another word.

He glanced over her resume and took a quick search for her record for the sake of morbid curiosity. She had a criminal record – or at least she had been taken several times on suspicion of theft, only to be found innocent.

Strike another one down.

**.**

She wore white shirt with a vest and a cap drawn over it.

"Sorry 'm late. Is this here the job interview?"

Soren gave a curt nod.

"I'm a great bodyguard you see. Trained in the army, and I've got big muscles from liftin' all those bails of hay for my pappy." She pulled back her sleeve and showed her muscle.

"This isn't an interview for a bodyguard," Soren said curtly.

"Oh? 'm sorry then, was it a desk job? I never was no good at desk jobs," she said.

"It was to—"

He was cut out as the earlier applicant pounced out from nowhere. She nuzzled her neck, and her hands went straight for the girl's small breasts.

"Neffy! There you are!"

"H-heather– 'm Glad ta see ya too, but this is an awful public place fer this sorta thing."

"You bad, bad girl! You were supposed to meet me for dinner," she admonished.

"I'm kind of in the middle of an interview, Heather..." she said with a pleading look in her eyes.  
The blond woman, Heather, he supposed, leveled a glare at Soren.

"He's a jerk. I'll treat you so much better. Now, Neffy dear, let's go find a quiet corner, hmm?"

With that, she promptly stole the potential applicant away. Another one striked off the list.

**.**

She wore a mini-skirt, a tank top with something about wrestling printed on it, and a pair of leather gloves with the fingers exposed. Her hair was let loose in purple waves, She listed 'bar brawls with big muscley men' under interests.

"I'm ready to fight," she said. "You look kind of scrawny though. Are you some martial artist? I hope this won't be like the time I tried to teach Rhys Karate."

"I think you answered the wrong ad," he said.

"Could be," she said cheerily. "It's happened before."

"You're looking for the Gallia Inc, not Nevassa Corp."

"Oh yeah, that's the one! Thanks!"

Soren crossed another one off the list.

**.**

Soren rubbed at his temples as the next applicant came. A tension headache throbbed, and he felt as if his head were in a vice. It was a man. A large, blue-haired, broad-shoulder man in something that seemed to attempt to be formal. A suitjacket with a t-shirt and jeans, as well as orange sneakers.

"I've never taken a job like this before, but I think I can pull it off. I wrestled in highschool a bit, played football. I'm fit, and...I really think I have what the job calls for?"

He seemed to be counting off things from an article, or book he'd read on how to take an interview.

"This isn't an interview for a bodyguard. I'll keep you on file if I need to hire one."

"Wait, I really need the money – what is it?"

"I'm hiring a date for the holidays and my brother's wedding."

"Hiring a date?" The man said, an eyebrow raised.

"I like to do things efficiently. Since my family seems unable to accept that I am married to my job, I'd find someone completely disposable who can play a part for a reasonable amount of time and can be let go of immediately after."

"Handy, I guess," he said.

"It's harder than it looks," Soren said rather dryly. "Besides, you should have handed me your resume before you started talking."

"Oh. That."

".....Did you even make a resume?"

Ike reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of paper. He passed it over. Soren flattened it out. His name was Ike, which seemed a fitting name for the type of man who would come to an interview in orange sneakers and wad his resume in his pocket. He mentally noted that on any normal day, this would be the least professional interviewer he'd ever seen...on a day that hadn't been filled with job applicants who hit on him, challenged him to mortal combat and threatened to put the restaurant out of business. Ike was downright normal in this lot. Overly casual, yes. Batshit insane? Not from what he could tell.

Highschool, a few jobs from waiter to part-time employee at a hardware store. Nothing stood out, but there weren't any hints of a criminal record, either.

In a fit of OCDness, Soren smoothed the papers out in a way that neared obsessiveness and put them in order. "Now, we'll call you should you get the job."

Of course he wasn't getting it, being that he was male and obviously applying for the wrong job, but he said that to everyone. Well, at least he would have, had they not attempted to hit on him, fight him, or possibly eat him.

"Wait, if I get it, can I have an advance?"

Ballsy. Soren tilted his head to study Ike more. He had an earnest expression.

"Why do you need the money so? Gambling debts? Is the mafia after you?" he said sardonically. He rubbed at his head. Today was not his day. Then again, being as he was Not A People Person, any day with human contact tended to not be his day.

"What? No. Just, my father's house is going into foreclosure and I really don't want that to happen."

Soren shook his head and sighed.

"I'm not asking for an escort or a whore. I just need someone to deal with the inanities of my family for a few weeks so they'll shut up about me being unattached."

And wouldn't it be the perfect revenge to the nagging to bring home a man? Soren hadn't quite grown out of the desire to piss his mother off.

"My family's pretty crazy too," Ike said with a slight smile. He seemed to be making attempts at camaraderie. Soren didn't do impulsive things. He wasn't about to start now.

"Your resolve is admirable, but you're applying for the wrong job."

"So you're saying that you don't think I'm gay enough for it?"

"...you're wearing orange sneakers and a jacket with jeans," Soren said.

"What does that have to do anything with it?"

"Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up," Soren repeated.

Ike did so, a bit perplexed. Soren rung, and soon came Kyza in his Armani suits he couldn't afford on his salary, but got anyways. He wore fashionable tiny square glasses and his hair was slicked back with gel. He was carrying a clipboard.

"You called?"

"Kyza, is he gay?"

Kyza tilted his head and looked at him. "He's very nice, almost as nice as Captain. Nice shoulders, nice build. But those clothes..." He shuddered in revulsion. "My verdict is that no self-respecting gay man would be caught dead in that ensemble. _Especially_ those shoes."

"Thank you, Kyza. That's all."

"...you have a personal advisor on gaydar?" Ike said with some incredulity.

"He's the assistant to a consultant of mine. He's helping manage this...operation."

"If you say so," Ike said.

"Are you gay?" Soren asked.

"I never really thought about it, actually," Ike said.

Kyza breezed back, and cut in. "The question would be is he 'gay for pay', and I believe the anser is 'yes.' Perhaps food would help the conversation?"

Ike's eyes seemed to light up at the mention of food. "The lovely waiter needed a breather, so I'm helping him. At this table, at least," Kyza said.

He laid down a menu. Ike glanced over it. He did not mull over the question of what to get long before he ordered.

"Salisbury steak with extra steak and steak on the side," Ike said.

"Someone likes his meat," Kyza said, rather smugly.

"Wait, this isn't one of those super expensive restaurants where the food is more than I make a month, is it?"

"All food is paid for by the company. As would be all food, attire and travel expenses on the scheduled time," Soren said.

"So that's a no?"

"I like to keep things efficient and cost-effective," Soren said.

"Cool. I'll have more steak with that steak."

"Coming right up," Kyza said.

**.**

Ike could sure pack away a meal. Not to the extent of the girl who had emptied the buffet, however. Also, he seemed to have no taste for sweets, which meant that unless the cake was made of Salisbury steak, there would be no fear of it disappearing under his watch.

After that there were no amazing discoveries to be found. He did note that Ike was blunt and straightforward, two traits he admired. Or, to be more precise, they were two traits which meant he was more likely to tolerate the person. Having no sense of politeness in himself, he found it grating in others.

Ike was not the last of that day. There had been among them: a crazed shopgirl who had only gone there in hopes of tracking down Ike, a cheerful girl who left halfway to bail her brother out of jail for something involving gambling debts and several others who all failed Soren's rigorous perfectionism.

When it came down to it, there really was only one choice. Besides, this gave the perfect excuse explain the lack of grandchildren. And Soren, especially when he was this irritated, was not immune to the childish need to piss off his mother. During his teenage years he'd never brought home a bad boy clad in black leather who rode in on a motorcycle. This was that very overdue impulse finally come to fruition.

So he left a message on voicemail, pleased to yet again have avoided human contact before he went back to working at his laptop.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Frost Fair (2/5)  
Day/Theme: December 17 [2010]: Almost there, but not quite.  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Merry Christmas, Kiu22. So, I worked on this heavily throughout Nano and hope to get it all finished up before the new year! Sup, guyz.

**.**

Soren sent the check out in advance, as Ike had requested. With that, so became their partnership, and so, began Ike's transformation. Kyza and Ranulf were called to do the honors, and both stood aside in Gucci suits that cost more than Ike made in a year. Kyza was wearing a black Jimmy Choo scarf tied about his neck, while Ranulf was casual chic with an open blazer, and loose tie. Ike wore much the same outfit he had in the interview, right down to the orange sneakers. He was tapping his hands on the seat while Ranulf and Kyza talked about completely foreign concepts like Sephora and Dolce and Gabbana.

Soren was sitting in on this 'consultation' to ensure that his faux boyfriend to be didn't come out looking like Kyza in the end.

Kyza and Ranulf had pulled out a bunch of magazines, and now laid them over the table. Soren gave a cursory glance, and Ike looked downright perplexed at the sort of clothing the models were wearing.

Kyza lit up. "And now, are we to the part where I get to play fairy godmother and give him a makeover – with haircuts and mousse, and manicures, and make him into a proper gay man?"

Soren looked up from browsing stock prices. "No, you're just going to get him a tuxedo for the wedding."

Kyza pouted. "Not even a little bit? I know the perfect moisturizer and he seriously needs to exfoliate. And one little mani/pedi won't hurt–"

"No," Soren said.

"Can I burn his shoes at least? They're an affront to humanity," Kyza said.

"I like my shoes," Ike said.

"His shoes are his business," Soren said, without looking up from his laptop.

"Really though, Captain, we should go outside to...catch our breaths. I think I've got the perfect surprise for him," Kyza said.

Ranulf grinned. "Consider this breath caught."

They left, and Ike still looked perplexed through it all. Soren was beginning to think he might as well have just hired Kyza. At least Ike had shown no interest in looking down women's shirts or up their skirts, but as it was, to the casual observer, he appeared completely straight. Of course, to the casual observer, the only gayometer involved fashion, Broadway, and questionable music tastes, which Ike would fail on all accounts. Soren knew better than the casual observer on such matters, and did not subscribe to stereotypes, but he thought it might be useful should anyone ask about Ike's whereabouts after this date. He would simply say Ike had gone through a phase, a college thing, and had decided to get married. Perhaps they would believe him heartbroken and let the subject alone (though knowing his mother, she wouldn't).

"Kyza, He's..."

"My consultant hired him for his...effervescence. Also he's a hard worker, and my consultant likes to have his ego stroked," Soren said.

Which wasn't the only thing which was getting stroked, but that was another thing entirely.

**.**

Soren sat in on the other consultations as well, though always with his trusty laptop to check on things back at the corporation. He had been asked to help, and perhaps wield his prestige to get a better deal from the point of their engagement, which was six months ago. He found weddings an expensive waste of time, so he had left it to Kyza and Ranulf to do in his stead, working along with his brother and sister-in-law-to-be.

And it would've been a simple affair, except Kyza and Ranulf were hoping for Vera Wang and the bride-to-be wanted all organic hemp dresses woven from a special company which claimed they apologized to the hemp before using it, and then blessed its soul for the next reincarnation.

However, she wasn't completely unreasonable, and they had apparently come to a compromise of being married in a relatively simple ceremony over the winter holidays. He hadn't heard word on how the dress had been compromised, but he was assured that a way had been found.

"Hey, how about this one?" Ranulf asked.

"They all look the same to me," Soren said. "Just make sure he won't rip it out."

"Doing what? Imitating the Hulk? Picking up a bookcase? Can you say 'Ike smash?'"

"All the same? This isn't bargain bin warehouse suit, this is _designer_," Kyza said. He seemed personally offended on the behalf of both Dolce and Gabbana.

"It's all right, I guess," Ike said. Shopping for clothes seemed to take a lot out of him, especially with Kyza and Ranulf.

"Don't look at the price tag," Soren warned. "The company will cover it on business expenses, so it's better that you don't know."

"Charging a suit as a business expense? Companies work in strange ways," Ike said.

"It's not like Mr. Nevassa is using them on lavish vacations," Kyza said.

"I am hiring you as my date, therefore, suits related to you are considered a business expense."

"Make sense, I guess," Ike said.

Ike looked to the mirror, and with Ranulf and Kyza distracted, Soren took a less cursory glance over him. It was a far cry from a blazer, jeans and orange sneakers. Ike still infused a casual appearance, even to the high priced navy suit. There was an untold charisma to him, a draw. He was certainly what would be considered handsome, though perhaps not in the traditional sense. There was something in him, a sense of intrinsically being a maverick that made women – and perhaps, men of a certain kind – hold romantic illusions about him.

When Ike turned back, Soren returned his gaze to his laptop, barely even reading the lines of information in front of him.

"Ok! Next we have sweaters to get to," Kyza said.

"V-necked sweaters, I bet," Ranulf said.

"Oh, you know it," Kyza said.

Ike looked to Soren. Soren seemed to think on this a moment.

"Do you have anything suitable for a Daein winter? Crimean winters are mild by comparison."

"If you're asking if I have any snowsuits, the answer is no," Ike said.

"Unless you wish to lose your limbs to frostbite, I advise you should continue on," Soren said.

Ike seemed to weigh the options. "Frostbite is starting to look not so bad by comparison," he said.

"We could get them matching sweaters!" Kyza exclaimed.

"We are _not_ wearing matching sweaters," Soren said.

"Well, at this rate you aren't going to pass as a couple at all," Kyza said, with a distinct hint of a pout.

"Being uncharacteristically sweet would reveal it for the farce it is," Soren said. "We will simply be...one of those composed, restrained couples who feel no need for such saccharine things."

"You know, you could've just bought a hooker," Ranulf said. "It'd have been a lot easier."

"They're called _escorts,_ Captain," Kyza said. "Though I think Ike might have a future in escortry."

"We could ask for a consulting fee, and pimp him out," Ranulf said.

"No one is pimping anyone out," Soren said peevishly.

"Whoa, somebody claimed dibs," Ranulf said.

"A shame, imagine how rich we'd all be," Kyza said. "He has this magnetic field that lures women in. I bet we could visit a gay bar and every straight woman and gay man there would just gravitate to hit on him."

Ike looked to Soren. "Is a gay bar part of the briefing process now?"

"No," Soren said. "After this is finished, Ike and I are going through the details one last time over lunch. If you two wish to go spend your time in a gay bar, I've nothing to say about it, as you are merely consultants."

"Woohoo!" Ranulf said. He and Kyza high-fived.

**.**

By the time they were done, Ike was thoroughly prepared for the Daein weather. The restaurant they picked food up from was a mid-scale one. Not one of those haute cuisine types, which were exceedingly expensive for two grains of rice and garnish called _a delicacy. _ It wasn't exactly the Country Buffet this time, either. They ordered out something distinctly spicy and meaty and got it in little white cartons. Ike was carrying it as they came outside, waiting for the ride. A black sedan parked stopped before them.

"No limousine?" Ike asked.

"It's an unnecessary expense," Soren said.

The car, however, one more fitted for security than luxury. The windows were darkened and bulletproofed. Both Ike and Soren climbed into the back.

"A private driver isn't a luxury?" Ike asked.

"I can get more things done if someone else is driving," Soren said.

"Ah," Ike said. "So."

Soren cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Now came the talking part. This was why Soren hired publicists and other people to do the actual human interaction for him. The exchange of currency, however, put them on more even balance. Besides, Ike didn't seem to be the type to wax poetic on the weather. But Ike didn't start awkward conversation. Instead, he started on the meal. Spicy stuff. Soren had never cared for it, but he let Ike choose the lunch and this is what he wanted.

"Mm. This is good stuff," Ike said. "You have any?"

"I'll wait until we reach headquarters," Soren said.

"About the job– .Do I have to return these after?" Ike asked.

"No. They're yours to keep when the contract is fulfilled," Soren said.

"Oh, thanks," Ike said.

"Your tickets will be delivered to you in two weeks time," Soren said.

"Knowing him, they'll be coach," Kyza said.

"I thought all you CEO types had their own private jets," Ike said.

"He's the scrooge of CEOs," Kyza said.

"I believe your attention needed _elsewhere_, Kyza," Soren said. "Like the road."

"Yes, Mr Nevassa," Kyza said. He then went back to co-ordinating various wedding things which Soren couldn't be bothered to do on his Blutooth while he drove. And flirting with Ranulf for good measure.

"I thought you were going to a bar?" Ike said.

"I'd be a superstar at the gay bar," Kyza said. "But the usual driver had something come up, so it'll have to wait."

Soren closed the laptop and then began sorting through his notes. For some unknown reason, he had been given the task of making the wedding speech. He was on his third draft, and it still sounded like a company memo made by a robotic monkey. He sighed and set it aside.

"As I was saying," Soren said. "You are expected to be packed and prompt by then. I'll have luggage personally delivered to you as well."

"So, is there anything I need to know?" Ike asked.

"Your briefing is in the folder I gave you. Don't go off script concerning the story," Soren said.

"I was a waiter at your table and the rest is history?" Ike said.

Soren leveled his eyes at Ike. "Would you prefer I say that we met at the gym?"

"Good point," Ike said.

"What about saying we met at a hardware store? Or a library?"

"You're hardly the kind to peruse libraries," Soren said.

" I could be fixing the shelves or something," Ike said.

"The backstory has already been written. Changing it this rate will only result in mixed stories which will put doubts to our claims of veracity."

Ike browsed through the folder. "How would a low-class waiter and a rich corporate guy meet anyways?"

"Obviously, you were fired the next day for your incompetence concerning waiting, but it was long enough for us to mean and I quote — 'fall in love'," Soren said the last in the utmost disdain. "It happens in poorly written romance novels all the time, and is just the sort of tripe they'd buy."

"I never thought I'd be the hero in a romance novel," Ike said, frowning at his background.

"Well you are now," Soren replied. "I expect you to act accordingly. Your task is to save your flirting and admiring of women until after the terms of the contract are fulfilled. I'd also prefer you not to assault any members of my family, no matter how tempting it may be."

"The first was never really an issue, and the second–Uh, what?"

"My family is infuriating," Soren said.

"Isn't everyone's?" Ike replied.

"Mine is in a whole different level," Soren said.

**.**

The booking went as smooth as was possible. The woman at the desk was annoyingly perky, and rather incompetent to boot, but other than that, it could've gone far worse than it did. It wasn't coach. Largely because constantly crying children made Soren want to chuck his book at them. And knowing Soren, it was a very large tome indeed. Soren thought it was worth the extra money it would involve, just to avoid the possible homicide charges.

Ike loaded the carry-on luggage in the top compartment, and handed Soren a piece of paper.

"Here," Ike said.

"That's your ticket," Soren said.

"Everyone loves the window seat, right?" Ike said.

"I've seen Daein many times before," Soren said. "After you see snowy mountains once, they tend to lose their appeal."

"I've seen it before too, and I just figured I'd offer," Ike said. He sat down and closed the window.

"You're a gentlemen? How...unexpected," Soren said.

"Just because I have orange sneakers doesn't mean I don't open doors," Ike said.

"It was more the fact you put them on the coffee table and nearly gave Kyza a heart attack," Soren said.

"Yeah, my father was always saying I had horrible manners," Ike said.

"Manners are overrated," Soren said. "I'd rather have someone insult me to my face than one who puts on a show of cordiality and insults me behind my back."

"Me too," Ike said.

This wasn't to be one of those times where great and meaningful things were learned on a conversation on a plane, as Ike proved to not be a morning person in the least, and nodded off soon after they had gotten on. Soren could never get comfortable in the air. He worked on his laptop when he could, and caught up on his reading when he couldn't. Soren never wasted a minute if he could help it. It was a six hour flight from Melior to Nevassa. Ike only groggily stirred when they landed, even sleeping through the turbulence over the mountainous regions between Daein and Crimea.

It was lucky for the airports themselves that they didn't lose the luggage, because Soren would've ranted at them as long as it took to find them. Plane rides only made him if possible, crankier than usual.

It was Bryce who met them in a spotless black suit, with white gloves and a several knives concealed over his body. At his foot, his waist, his arm.

"Master Soren," he said, nodding. "Everyone is waiting for you and your companion."

"Of course," Soren said. Ike hauled the luggage, leaving Soren simply his light rolling luggage.

"Your companion is yet to come?" Bryce inquired.

"My companion is already with me," Soren said, his voice growing silky, in a way that made his workers fear for their jobs.

"I see. Shall I inform the madame?" Bryce said.

"No need. She'll see us soon enough."

"She will worry," Bryce said.

"She always does," Soren said.

They climbed into a black sedan, which Bryce himself drove. It was a short enough drive, and the car was silent, save for the sound of classical music from the disk player. Bryce at times hummed along. Ike looked out the window, and Soren looked through his notes for the speech he couldn't quite get a handle on. All too soon, they were pulling up at the massive gates that separated The Keep from the rest of Nevassa.

Ike stared up at the architecture of The Keep, his hands in his pockets of his faded jeans to keep from the cold. It did have that effect, especially on those who hadn't seen its gothic construction up close before. It was covered in snow and patches of frost, with the tall black spires looking as if they were trying to spear the sky. Gargoyles and other beasts were carved into the stone, looking down with snarling jaws.

Ike took the luggage, despite Bryce's attempts to carry it up himself. They walked up, into The Keep. The room was dimly lit, in shades of dark red and grey. A motley group lolled about. Friends of the bride, he assumed. They looked like thieves and activists, and of the two his father had always hated activists more. He could at least admire the thieves for their talent.

He caught sight of the bride-to-be. It was rather hard to miss her, given her transcendental all organic tie-die ensemble with many gold bracelets and necklaces making tinkling sounds as she walked. Instead of her being on Pelleas' arm, it looked more like Pelleas was on her arm, and utterly in a state of disbelieving bliss that he was lucky enough to be her armcandy.

His mother rose up from where she had been seated. She wore only the most fashionable gown, yet always dressed as if in mourning, even though Bryce was probably the only person in all of Daein who mourned Ashnard's passing. She wore pearls at her neck, and a black veil over her face. Perhaps he was mourning the loss of her youngest child to an _activist_. It wouldn't surprise Soren, given the bitter glances he'd seen her giving the bride. His father had always said that the only good activist was another activist chopped up in the garden next to the rest of his collection.

"Now Soren, don't tell me you forgot to bring your date after I asked you time and time again to remember," Almedha said.

They had apparently mistaken the situation, deeming Ike some luggage handler, bodyguard, or other assistant.

"This is Ike," Soren said. "My date."

Almedha's smile tightened. Pelleas looked perplexed, as he looked from Ike to Soren and back around. Micaiah simply looked serene and understanding, which only made Soren distrust her more. No one was that understanding without an agenda, or a hypocrisy hidden behind closed doors. The others weren't paying attention, caught up in their own plans in the room beyond.

"As you can see, any grandchildren will have to be Pelleas' job," Soren said, unable to keep the smugness from his voice.

"That's no excuse. You could always get a surrogate," she hissed.

Soren rolled his eyes. They could have this argument later – surely they would, in time. "We should get unpacked."

"Where do I put them?" Ike asked.

"Follow me," Soren said.

It was up a winding stone stairway that Soren lead him. The stones were of a dark sort naturally mined in the Daein mountains. It gave the Keep an even eerie feel, to say nothing of the occasional messages foretelling of doom carved from bloody daggers – their father had been quite a handful when drunk. But eventually, they were at the summit of the stairs and Soren opened up to his room. It was much as he had left it. The walls were lined filled with bookcases on nearly every wall, and containing several weapons and gruesome paintings which were 'gifts' from his father to try and impose manliness on him. His large bed dominated most of the room. It was a four-poster variety, with dragons carved into the mahogany wood, and red curtains which could be pulled down on cold nights. The adjoining bedroom was much the same, just with less bookcases. These beds had housed princes and princesses, queens and their lovers snuck in for trysts.

The only side which wasn't filled with bookcases or weapons was the east wall which had a fireplace. There were very few rugs, save for one made of bear pelt for his father thought the crocheted kind not manly enough, and the only fitting thing to cover the stones of the keep was animal pelts

Either that or he was getting revenge for Almedha's crazed knitting and crocheting stage, which had come up with some truly atrocious sweaters along the way, to say nothing of the awful rugs.

Ike laid Soren's luggage at the foot of the bed and disappeared to do the same with his own. A few seconds later he was back.

"So, about your mother – two seconds in and she's calling dibs on what to name the grandchildren?" Ike said.

"And planned the wedding date, don't forget that," Soren said. "To say nothing of the color of the bridal dresses, entree, and what the floral settings will be."

"She's..." Ike said, struggling for words.

"Entirely insane?" Soren suggested.

"I was going to say 'dedicated', but ok," Ike said.

"Either way, we should get ready for lunch," Soren said. "She'll pitch a fit if we're late."

"I'm good to go," he said.

"I'll only be a moment," Soren said.

Ike was leaning against the stone wall, thankfully not against one of the priceless tapestries. Right next to him was a tarnished and rusted suit of armor holding a spear.

"Interesting place," Ike said. "Very...medieval."

"Below were dungeons where people were tortured to death. It's quite an museum of torture devices. Everything from racks to Iron Maidens."

Or at least it would have been, had all those implements of torture not had recent use under Ashnard's reign. His father's motto had apparently been 'spare the rod, spoil the subject.'

"Nice to know," Ike said.

"Are you afraid of ghosts, Ike?" Soren asked.

"Not even remotely," Ike said.

"Good. They're little more than tales which have been kept alive due to superstitious help. Either way— " Soren broke off, noting that Ike had become more rumbling in the time it had taken them to arrive and drop off their luggage.

"Your tie is crooked," Soren said.

Ike looked down, and made an effort to correct it

"Stop, you're just making it worse. I'll fix it," Soren said.

Soren was fixing Ike's tie, and it was in no way a simple excuse to better view him, despite him being admittedly aesthetically pleasing and smelling very good. His fingers lingered at Ike's neck for a moment as he was distracted. A sudden, and strange thought of licking Ike's neck came to him. He focused on his Adam's Apple, and thought about licking over it, and down to the hollow of his neck.

He shook his head. It was a fluke. Somehow Kyza and Ranulf's exuberance had rubbed off on him.

Soren cleared his throat. "There," he said unnecessarily.

"Something the matter?" Ike asked.

"Nothing," Soren replied. "We should go."

With that, he went out, gaze turned strictly in front of him.

Ike followed along, only a step behind him. Soren paused at the top of the stairs, looking down the spiral staircase.

"I forgot to mention the cruelest torture implement of all: the dinner table," Soren said.

"The food is that bad?" Ike asked.

"Not the food, the company," Soren said.

"Can't be worse than Shinon," Ike said.

They walked in, a step apart and came to the table. It was a very large room, with tall ceilings covered in cobwebs which hadn't been cleaned in years. The wood was dark, adding to the overall atmosphere of dreariness in the Keep. Various animal heads and pictures of the heraldry adorned the walls, while stone carvings of dragons and wyverns chased deer and Pegasi.

The size of the table and the absolute distance between one side and another always took some getting used to. Ike muttered a _do you need a loudspeaker to ask to pass the peas or something?_ Soren even had a mild chuckle at that, which he covered up with a discreet cough.

The dinner went long, not only because Almedha took every chance she could to be cold and slight Micaiah, or make backhanded comments towards her. Ike seemed to enjoy the food at least.

However, Ike had spilled sauce down the front of his white shirt midway through, so he excused himself and headed up to change – Soren came along as well, because anything would be better than witnessing his mother's descent into trying to win the worst mother-in-law of the century award. When he reached the door, Ike's back was turned to him. There was a surprising amount of scars on his body. One at his elbow, a large one across his back which must have been a sizeable gash. These weren't mere football injuries. When he turned, more scars were revealed.

Soren didn't ask. Even if it was in his right as an employer to do so. Instead he decided to take this moment to unpack, to try and clear his mind from the strange fixation and results a simple glimpse of flesh had given him.

The suitcase was left on his bed, and not Ike's. There was a picture in his things, set atop his folded clothes – if folded could in fact be applied to something so slipshod. There was a large house, a motley assortment in front of it. There was a younger Ike, the rest were mere ciphers. The group looked happy – save for a dour looking man with a red ponytail, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. A younger Ike was in the back. The same old intense look from him, and yet there was an awkwardness to him. The rest of the group came as snippets of color, red hair, green hair, a wide smile with a crooked tooth, a scar. Soren studied it closer. The house behind looked as if it had been found in a state of disrepair and hadn't quite shed its own idiosyncrasies, the rust stains and slightly outdated wooden shutters needing repair and a new coat of white paint.

But it looked happy. Soren wondered what it would be like to live in a house like that, one without torture, without bloodstains which would never truly fade.

"My family. Well, most of it. Father is gone now."

Soren dropped the photo, and stepped back. "I wasn't prying; I thought it was my own suitcase."

"I know. It's all right," Ike said. He was wearing a new, clean white shirt now. Ties were less necessary at this point, and formalities could be lessened until the actual rehearsals took place.

What an idyllic sort of mismatched family. He did background checks, but never pried into personal effects. Strange, he never thought an accident like this would leave him uncomposed. He shook it off, and attributed it as jet lag.

He was tempted to just take a nap, but that would likely throw his schedule off even more. The Keep wasn't one for long walks at night. While Soren took the stories of ghosts with a grain of salt, there was the very real threat of weapons and unsprung booby traps. Ashnard liked to keep his staff on their feet.

He noted Ike looking out the window, gazing at the patterns of frost and ice left from the snow. In the far off distance, there were the colors from the banners raised, the faint brown of stalls and restaurants below the stone turrets of The Keep.

"Put on your coat," Soren said. "We're going out to see the sights."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Frost Fair (3/5)  
Day/Theme: December 25 [2010]: Lighted streets, distant stars, brilliant snow  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: -

**.**

Ike did so, and in a moment they were sneaking down the back stairways through a door to the courtyard, and out into the cold air.

"One thing I can't help wondering is why your brother wanted to get married right after the holidays? I always heard people go for June weddings," Ike said.

"We're from Daein, the only difference between June and January is a few degrees and a little less snow. Besides, everyone is already coming up for Frost Fair, so we're saving money."

"What's a Frost Fair anyways?"

"When the main river that flows through Nevassa freezes over. Vendors take up shop there. It happens most every day in winter, but some idiot decided to make a holiday of it around the new year."

"Isn't that dangerous? People falling through and all?" Ike asked.

"Daein winters don't leave weak ice. You could build a castle on there and it wasn't make a crack."

Ike stepped out on to the ice. "What are we getting again?"

"Away from the family?" Soren suggested.

"Works for me," Ike said.

He took Soren by the arm as they stepped across the ice. Ike had fairly good balance. Soren however, wasn't one for making a prat of himself. Oh, other pairs could fall down and giggle (Pelleas and Micaiah among them) but Soren preferred to not look like an idiot.

Ike steadied him, and kept him close against his thick jacket.

"So," he said, in a low tone, "Are you going to show me the wonders of Daein?"

"You've already seen it. Snow, snow, ice, and crazy people. It's Daein's main exports."

"I could stand to see a little more."

"Just wait until the rest of the family comes. It's like walking into an asylum," Soren said.

Ike laughed. "Sounds like my family. The whole group my father worked with was pretty much family. There was this one guy – Shinon's his name – he'd get drunk and throw beer cans at me."

"Sounds like last Frost Fair," Soren said.

There were vendors of both hot food and cold food along the sides of the frozen over river and on the sides of its banks.

"Any specialties?" Ike said. "I'm always up for trying the local foods."

"We aren't Begnion. This isn't the place for light, airy cakes that require thirty eggs to make. Mostly Daein specializes in a lot of stews and soup, all with large amounts of meat. There is no such thing as vegetarianism here. Even the priests rely on meat, given that only the hardiest of crops survive here," Soren said.

"Sounds like just my kind of place," Ike said.

"If you enjoy living in an arctic wasteland," Soren said.

Soren's long, grey wool coat was buttoned high. he had a black hat pulled low over his head, and thick black wool gloves with a fur lining.

"You didn't bring a scarf," Soren noted.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Ike said.

"You'll get wind burn if you don't wear one," Soren said. He looked up to Ike's face, already turning ruddy from exposure. "Frostbite too, if you stay out long enough."

"I'll just pick up something here. It could be a souvenir, or something," Ike said.

"The vendors will overcharge you," Soren said. "It's the way they welcome the tourists. Here—" He dug into his coat and dug out a gold scarf.

"I always keep extras available," Soren said.

"Always prepared, eh Soren?"

"But of course," Soren said. "Keeping ahead of things is the only way to truly succeed. If I had been incompetent and let little things slide, the board would've overthrown me by now."

He frowned in concentration at the scarf, which was a little lopsided.

"Here, lean down, I'll take care of it."

Ike did so, and Soren adjusted the scarf until it was tied about his face.

"Think they'll mistake me for a bandit?"

"If so, then all Daeins are bandits," Soren said.

They turned, and made their way towards more of the festivities, when a voice cut through the air.

"Ikey-poo?" called a sing-songy voice through the crowd.

"Oh crud," Ike said.

"An old girlfriend?" Soren asked.

"More like old stalker," Ike replied.

The woman pushed her way through the crowd before they could make their escape. She was wearing a thick fur-lined coat over her clothes, which she opened up to reveal the sort of airy, light dress that belonged in harems, not the Daein cold.

"It _is_ you!" The woman cried. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me either," Ike said. "Really, what _are_ you doing in Daein?"

"Oh, I was just traveling with the group of other salesmen. You know how it is. See, this is proof that Destiny wants us together!"

"Your sister has nothing to do with this, Aimee," Ike said.

"Well, I am glad I ran into you, so we could clear up a little...mistake. See, there was this little misunderstanding of these _papers._ I burned them, of course, with all their filthy lies. Was it that sister of yours that got them? She just is too young to understand our love."

"I got the restraining order," Ike said.

"Of course, of course. You're so silly, always teasing... I won't pressure you for a ring, but I'm not getting any younger," she said, and laughed. "We really should get started on our family soon!"

"We're not going to have a family ever, Aimee. I keep trying to explain that, and you keep not listening," Ike said in exasperation. All this time, Aimee had pointedly ignored Soren's presence. Soren had a low tolerance fo histrionics, and he didn't like her already. It was that, and the annoyance that she was holding him up – and perhaps a slight annoyance at her presumptuous ways, that she dared try and claim Ike's heart that moved him to action.

"You won't be having any children with him. In fact you won't be having him at all. He's otherwise occupied," Soren said. Soren gave her one last cold stare, before looking up to Ike.

"Otherwise occupied?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not nearly woman enough for him."

"All things considered, I don't think being 'woman enough' was ever an issue with him. Regardless, shouldn't we go, _sweetie?_" Soren asked. He looped his arm in Ike's. "After all, we've a wedding to plan."

On that note, with Aimee still sputtering, Soren lead him away. As they left, surely to Aimee's glare behind them, Soren slipped his hand in Ike's back pocket.

"Sweetie? A wedding?" Ike asked, when they were out of hearing distance.

"I never said _whose_ wedding it would be. Regardless, I did what I had to do," Soren said. "Though if you ever speak of this, I'll deny it. The only other witness is obviously insane, and so it's just your word against mine."

"And your hand?" Ike asked, taking a glance back to where Soren's hand still rested.

Soren withdrew his hand and put it into his own pockets, ignoring the fact that it was his first experience copping a desperate jealous grope, and it had felt rather good.

"I was playing the part of the jealous girlfriend – or in my case, pseudo-boyfriend to the best of my abilities," Soren said.

"Am I getting my pay docked for this?"

"No. Luckily for you, I didn't see the need to put a stalker clause in the contact."

"Good to know," Ike said.

They walked – or to be more appropriate _slid_ down the river that cut through the outskirts of Nevassa. Around them, children skated by, sometimes crashing into each other which seemed to end with laughter almost as much as tears. On the snowy side, the children of Daein made snowmen, snow angels, and snow forts. There were bundled up in thick snowsuits, little pompom hats, thick mittens and scarves until only their eyes were visible. They looked like a little alien race from another land, come to capture the snow and possibly throw it at each other, when they weren't building with it.

Vendors sold traditional Daein weapons, traditional Daein armor, to say nothing of thick brown cakes shaped like dragons, spears or armor.

"Are they good?" Ike asked, motioning towards them.

"It would depend on your tastes. The cakes are thick, and have more of the consistency of bread than cakes – and not Begnionian white bread, mind you," Soren said.

"Of course," Ike said.

"Those over there on the farther side, the ones without the shapes are Shepherd's pies. They fill them with meat and vegetables...that sort of thing. Given your tastes, you'd probably enjoy it," Soren said.

"Well, there's my first taste of Daein food," Ike said. He approached, and picked out one of the fresh pies.

"Ten gald," the woman.

Ike reached for his wallet. "Expensive," he muttered. "I hope it's good."

"Finest quality ingredients take money," the woman said.

Soren stepped in. "I'll handle this."

"Ten gald is an outrage. I've seen better quality ingredients used in wyvern feed. _Five gald._"

"Five gald is an insult! I have children to feed, and this is hardly chicken feed. _Seven gald._" the shopkeeper replied.

"Six and a half, and no more," Soren said.

"Fine," the woman said. She wrapped the pie up in wax paper.

"That was great," Ike said.

"Around here, you have to bargain to get a good deal, or they'll overcharge you," Soren said. "Even the legitimate sellers are thieves when it comes down to it. As for that... It's a messy dish, and best eaten with some tea, coffee or warm milk."

"Coffee sounds good about now," Ike said.

"There's a restaurant that opens around here just for Frost Fair and travelers," Soren said.

"You're the guide," Ike said. "Lead the way."

It was only a ways down to the restaurant, with frosted windows that didn't completely obscure the warm, inviting glow of the hearth fire. The room was decorated with a coat of arms made up of two wyverns and a thorn bush before a mountain. Behind it were two spears above the well-kept fireplace which crackled. There was a slight hint of woodsmoke in the air, added together with the scent of herbs and spices, cooking meat and coffee being brewed. There were several others in the room, seated on wooden benches and large tables. Soren chose a mostly empty table where their backs would be to the wall, and their gaze to the door.

"Traditional place," Ike said, looking around.

"Daein does so love to hold onto outdated traditions," Soren said. He sat down, and Ike began to take bites of his Shepherd's Pie, which had cooled enough to eat, without turning lukewarm. People behind them laughed at their own jokes, other people's jokes, and shared anecdotes.. All around them was the murmur of conversation. A young dark-haired waitress with curly hair came to take their order. She flushed at the sight of Ike, who had pulled down his gold scarf to eat.

"M-may I take your order, sir?" She said. She didn't even glance at Soren.

"One black coffee, one black tea," Soren said.

"Anything else?" She asked hopefully, looking to Ike.

"Not for now. I'll call you if we need anything," Soren said, more sharply then he intended. She left, albeit reluctantly.

"This thing is amazing," Ike said. "I think I could survive on Daein food for the rest of my life."

"Mm," Soren said. He had picked up the menu to search for the best deal.

"Any suggestions?" Ike said.

"You're up for something else already?" Soren asked.

Ike shrugged. "I wouldn't mind a little more. Like I said, this is my kind of food."

"I see...Note that the Wyvern stew doesn't contain actual Wyvern, but has meat that isn't quite as well done – or the sort you would feed to Wyverns. It's a common misconception," Soren said.

"Good to know," Ike replied. "I'm not too keen on eating giant lizards."

"The Mountain Soup is made from bitter vegetables from the highlands. Unless you have a particularly strong palate, I wouldn't recommend it. Otherwise, the meals aren't the sort of Begnion delicacies. The biggest issue is usually whether you want your stew to have poultry, pork or beef."

"Now those are my kind of choices," Ike said.

Ike settled for a pork and beef stew, which even contained some vegetables, while Soren settled for a creamier soup made with milk. They split a loaf of pull-apart bread which had a thin sheen of butter and garlic on it. Ike was slumped in his chair, and sighed in relief. "That hit the spot right there."

Soren too felt pleasantly full and warm, but as always, he was more reserved about such things. He sipped at the last remains of his black coffee without any hurry. He flipped open his phone to check the time and frowned.

"What?" Ike asked.

"Fifty-six missed calls," Soren replied. "I suppose it's time to turn in."

He drank the last of his coffee and left money on the table with enough for a tip – a very _lean_ tip.

"No bargaining?" Ike asked, as they left the warm restaurant and went back into the cold air.

"There were laws passed about price gouging and franchises. The street vendors find ways to avoid it, but with the restaurants, they can't charge beyond a certain price," Soren said absently.

He put his phone back. It was already getting dark. There were certain places in Nevassa where it wouldn't be a good idea to be after dark. Ike would likely turn any cutpurses or thugs aside, but still, it was better to not take the chance at all.

They walked past more happy children with red cheeks as they walked closer to the gates. Soren paid them little heed, mentally calucating this and that. The moment of calm had gone.

"By the way, Soren..."

Soren turned, and Ike pulled off his cap and released a handful of snow over his head.

"You did _not_ just do that," Soren said.

"I did," Ike said. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I warn you that I have a good aim," Soren said. He ever so calmly brushed the snow from his hair, and put his cap back on his now cold head.

"You say that," Ike said. "And yet I'm not so sure you can even lift a snowball."

Soren bent down, and Ike took this chance to arm himself too. The children, sensing a fight, had already begun throwing snowballs of their own. Every stall was a potential shelter, every person a potential shield. Soren had played enough war games to know this altered state. Dropping them off in the woods and leaving them nothing but a knife was their father's idea of family bonding, after all. That and bringing them to watch battles to the death and executions, some personally done by Ashnard himself.

The first few Ike threw missed. Soren was a small target, and it had always been the one thing in favor about his size. Soren returned fire, but so quick that no matter how powerful Ike's throwing arm was, he still missed. Bit by bit he was getting closer, and the children if anything, added to the chaos. They tackled each other, and seemed to have no distinct team, but had simply turned it into a free-for-all. Ike was often on the receiving end of then, and more than once he reached out to the nearest child who had thrown snow at him, pulled off their hat and gave them a snowy noogie. Soren used these chances to lob snowballs at Ike, hitting him most every time. That wasn't to say he never misjudged. A few times Ike was able to catch him. Once on his chest, and on both shoulders, but Soren had the upper hand here.

The sun was setting to grey behind them, and all Soren could thing that he was going to get a very snowy revenge on Ike. He bit his lip to repress – what? _Laughter?_ Mirth? Soren let the children around him do the laughing for him. He watched as several tackled Ike and hugged at his legs, apparently deciding to wage war on simply him after tiring of fighting themselves.

"It serves you right," Soren said. He stood over Ike with a well packed snowball ready to aim for the killing blow. Before he could drop it on Ike, above the giggling, squirming mass of children, Ike tugged at his legs so that they fell to the snow together.

"You did _not_ just do that," Soren said, a little incredulous, and more than a little inane at this point.

The children dispersed and went off to tag, to other childhood games, laughing all the way.

Ike grinned. "How do you like the snow now?"

"I was more neutral about it before it was in my pants," Soren said.

"Nice tactics back there," Ike said.

"Nice throwing arm, though I can't vouch for your _maturity_," Soren said.

"Everyone needs to have a little snow fun every once in a while. Really, when's the last time you made a snow angel?" Ike asked.

"I don't believe I ever have. I have always found such things tedious and puerile."

"What?" Ike said.

"...childish. Pointless endeavors. Foolishness," Soren said.

"Yeah, but that's why it's fun," Ike said.

"It's easy. You just have to lay flat, and arc your arms, like this." Ike demonstrated. He flapped his arms and kicked out his legs from side to side, leaving a definite imprint on the snow.

"See?"

"I know how to make them," Soren said in irritation. "I simply never cared to try."

"Then how do you know it won't be fun?" Ike asked.

Soren rolled his eyes up to the grey skies. Snowflakes landed on his nose. He raised his arms with a sigh and made the arc of wings , and the flowing robes.

"Now, was that so bad?" Ike asked.

"It was perfectly exciting," Soren said flatly.

Ike pushed himself up, marring the snow angel in the process. He held out his hand. For a moment, Soren just looked there, at his black gloved hand, the rest of the activity of Frost Fair turning to background noise behind them. He pushed himself up, and took the offered hand. Ike had him standing in seconds, as if his weight was entirely negligible. For a few odd moments, they were up and standing, still holding hands. Soren turned, and brushed away the snow from his pants.

They walked back together, through the gates, leaving the last festivities of Frost Fair behind them. He could've called Bryce, but it seemed a waste. They walked past flickering street lamps and shops advertizing sales. The streets were icy, yet Ike kept his arm at Soren's, so he wouldn't fall. They looked the part of lovers, walking there. Ike in his scarf, Ike's arm at his elbow, keeping him from falling.

Soren was in high spirits, much to his own surprise. The feeling of lightness he had found while going to the Frost Fair with Ike hadn't quite worn off yet. Of course, he kept it quite hidden, for Soren never simply let his emotions come free outright, save for irritation, which he displayed often.

"I haven't done something like that since I was a child," Ike said.

"Me either," Soren said.

Technically, he'd never been that unburdened, but he didn't bring that up.

"Although way back when my sister Mist, and her friend Rolf used to make snowmen. The snow wasn't like up here, though. This stuff is epic. Over there it was good, but not Daein quality."

"Nothing but the finest in snow and crazed rulers for us," Soren said dryly.

Ike chuckled.

They came up through the courtyard and stomped their boots to free them off snow before they came into the coatroom.

"You have snow in your hair," Ike said, as they came into the coatroom.

"I wonder how that could've happened," Soren said dryly. "It seems my _date_ decided I needed more contact with the elements."

_"I should dock your pay for that,_" Soren said in an undertone.

"Good thing I have a contract," Ike said. "And besides, you needed to live a little. Here, I'll get it."

He leaned to brush the snow from Soren's hair.

"There's snow caught in your eyelashes," Ike said.

"There's snow in a lot of other places too," Soren said tetchily. They were both trying to dislodge the snow now, hands bumping together, cold and without gloves. Ike, who seemed in a perpetual state of frowning, was actually grinning. And Soren himself was on the verges of a wan smile. Obviously, the cold had somehow gotten to both of them.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and there in the doorway was Almedha, looking down disapprovingly, and aloof. Suddenly the moment was awkward, as if they had been a pair of teenagers being caught making out.

"We have searched the entire Keep for you two for hours," she said. She stared down, stony and accusing at them both.

"I simply took Ike out to see the Frost Fair," Soren said.

"Is it that hard to leave a note?" Almedha said, her voice taking on a hysterical note. "We were worried! What if you'd been hurt?"

"It was merely a festival. It took longer than I expected. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I am no longer a child," Soren said.

"I'm your mother, Soren. Whether you're a child or not, I will always worry about you," she said. "And I missed so much of your childhood...you can't fault me for worrying that it will happen again."

The situation had to be quite awkward for Ike at this rate. Soren hadn't delved into his past for Ike, and as far as he knew, Ike hadn't gone out of his way

"This isn't the place, mother," he said quietly.

"Of course," she said. "It never is..." She shook her head, the black veil from her hat covering most of her face.

"It's time to trim the tree," Almedha said. "We've been waiting for you all along."

She spun on her heel and left. Soren rubbed at his temples. Of course by 'we' Almedha meant 'she'. He highly doubted say, the bride-to-be worried particularly. As of yet, there was little love lost between them, and he hadn't even known her three days. Soren had a way of affecting people like that.

"We'd best go before this escalates into something worse," Soren said. He looked back to Ike, but Ike seemed to have taken this awkward, and more private moment in stride. Soren had to admire his duress under fire.

The tree was a thick evergreen which was so tall that even Ike would've needed a ladder to put the decorations upon. It was not the usual barbed-wire garlands which Ashnard had taken such a liking to – for nothing said festiveness like wrapping his enemies in barbed wire and listening to them scream. This year, for Micaiah's sake, there were lots of lit candles, and garlands made of cranberries for the birds, instead of Beorc and Laguz skulls, tied with entrails as ornaments like the other years.

People could say a lot of things about Ashnard the Bloody. That he was tyrannical, cruel, heartless, but no one could accuse him of not being festive.

So it was instead, that they were making the decorations by hand, and disemboweling wasn't even involved this year. They folded paper chains which had prayers for world peace written on them. Soren was pretty sure his father was rolling in his grave now – not that he particularly cared. He and his father never did quite see eye-to-eye, especially considering that Ashnard was over six feet tall and Soren barely cleared five feet.

Soren didn't bother to come into the conversation, where Pelleas was relating (yet again) how he and Micaiah met at a peace rally.

"She was protesting my father's company, and she was just so...beautiful. I mean, not just her looks, which are lovely, – very lovely! – but I wouldn't want to see shallow and misogynist, but oh, the way she talked. She was so _driven_. It was...it was a moment where I thought that if I was ever lucky enough to marry her, I'd be happy the rest of my life. Simply saying 'I'm going to marry that girl someday' would be presumptuous..."

"That's sweet, _dear_," Almedha said. "Now...Ike, why don't you tell the story of how you and my son met? I just can't help wondering how someone like you and he met and fell in love. It's so very _curious_ and _unlikely,_ no?"

Soren looked up from his sizeable paper chain. There were no prayers on his; he figured he'd leave the praying to Micaiah.

"Well..." Ike said.

"I don't think that's an appropriate question," Soren cut in. "He has barely unpacked his things, and now you're asking for his life story."

"No need to get snippy, dear. We just want to know more about who you've been keeping hidden away," Almedha said.

"I was working as a waiter, and we sort of ran into each other – literally. Then there were job offers...Other stuff happened, and now I'm here," Ike said. He shrugged.

"What a silly little way of putting it," Almedha said. "How eloquent."

"I don't think the details are something you want talked about in public," Ike said dryly. There was tittering laughter from some of the others, and the situation was mostly diffused, and looked as if it might be shifting into another topic now. Score one for Ike.

"Even if you put it brusquely, you're really very fond of him..." Micaiah said in her dreamy, otherworldly way she had when she was telling fortunes. This proved her a sham in his eyes – though Soren had already _thought_ her as such. This simply gave him factual proof that her moments of Knowing were actually moments of Bullshit.

She rose up from her seat, her many-colored skirt floating down around her as she put her prayer chains in a neat little pile where she had once sat.

"It's a brisk night. Wouldn't a walk outside be nice?" Micaiah asked. She looked to Pelleas.

"Actually it's quite cold, love. We might get frostbite."

"Then we could keep each other warm," Micaiah said pointedly.

"Oh... _Oh._ Um. I'll be right there, I just need to find my cloak."

Pelleas shuffled off, nearly tripping in the process, and Micaiah looked on serenely, even in the face of her future mother-in-law's obvious displeasure. "Excuse me," she said, and walked on, unhampered by whatever they might be thinking, or accusing her of.

Even with their guests of honor gone missing, the conversation went on. Soren had finished his paper chain and was leaning back into the thick couch. He could barely keep his eyes open. Ike lounged next to him, with his arm stretched over the top of the couch, just behind Soren's head. Everyone was holding some sort of different conversation now, but he was on the verge of nodding off. His eyelids felt heavy, and his head was drooping as the weariness began to get the better of him.

Had it been on his own terms, in his own apartment, he would've simply turned in – or taken coffee and stayed up writing a contract or plan that needed attending to. Simply because he was CEO didn't mean he didn't end up doing a lot of other people's jobs, as their incompetence got to him. If he left now, his mother would simultaneously nag at him for leaving, worry that he was sick, and then go on about how _Pelleas_ wouldn't leave when the festivities were just starting.

"You ready for bed, Soren?"

"Mm?"

"Let's go," Ike said. Before Soren could protest, he scooped Soren out and carried him out of there while the rest of their family and friends stared on.

Meg, one of the bridesmaids-to-be looked on and sighed. "They're always taken or gay – or both."

Jill cleared her throat. "There's always other options."

But the rest of their conversation was obscured as Ike rounded the corner.

"You're really light," Ike remarked.

"You didn't have to do that," Soren protested, slightly more awake now.

"You looked like you needed to be rescued," Ike said.

"I'm not a princess," Soren said tetchily.

"You sure about that?" Ike said. Soren couldn't see his face, but he could hear traces of laughter in his voice.

"A nearly disowned son of a fallen tyrant with dubious claims to the monarchy, yes. That does not make me a princess," Soren said.

"Eh, close enough," Ike said.

He nudged open the door and came to their rooms. A few steps more and he laid Soren down on his bed.

"Gotta change," Soren murmured sleepily. He stepped up, a little wobbly from the bed. "Besides, you won't get extra pay for tucking me in."

"Actually, I was just trying to escape them. If we had to listen to one more story about childhood antics, I figured you'd explode."

"I'm used to them. Their attempts to make me implode via humiliating childhood stories have less effect on me," Soren said. "I have figured out their tactics and tuned out accordingly."

Soren bent to pull his things out of his luggage. He hadn't a chance to unpack, and that had galled him, being as obsessive-compulsive as he was, it would've taken far too long. He pulled off the grey fisherman's sweater he'd been wearing, and began to undo the dress shirt he'd worn under.

By chance, he looked back to see Ike sitting on the bed, watching him.

"You're still here?" Soren said.

"Well yeah, we were talking," Ike said.

"Pull the gold cord."

Ike looked up. "This one?"

"Yes."

Ike did, and the thick curtain attached to his four-poster bed closed shut. Soren changed in peace into his thermal long underwear, thick black socks, and topped it with a sleeping sweater, considering that the heat in the Keep was barely enough to keep the rooms from frosting over in the winter. He walked towards the bed, and pulled the curtain open.

"I hope a tee-shirt and boxers isn't all you're wearing to bed," Soren said.

"I'll be fine," Ike said.

"When you die of exposure, don't expect me to make a show of grief at your funeral. I already stretched whatever acting abilities playing the jealous boyfriend today," Soren said.

"Wouldn't dream of asking it," Ike said. "Night, Soren."

Soren pulled up his covers, and watched Ike go to the adjoining room. He heard a crackling, and frowned. Somewhere along the line, Ike must have stoked the fire, for Soren definitely remembered it had died down.

"Goodnight..." he said softly. Ike was already gone, unlikely to hear him.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Frost Fair (4/5)  
Day/Theme: February 20 [2011]: Tiny little erosions.  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Life Happened so this was a little delayed. I hope to have chapter five by March, barring that life doesn't roundhouse kick me again. Ammie asked, and so she shall receive!

**.**

Amazingly, Ike survived the night in boxers and a thin t-shirt without even the loss of any limbs or digits in the process. He walked out–without socks, no less–and dared to test the showers in the early morning when the water heater was barely functional. There was a possibility Ike hadn't even used hot water, from how much was left by the time he got to it.

Soren wasn't sure if he was very brave, very stupid, or both. Whichever, it was almost admirable, in a rash way.

Of course, he had been _awake_ and had been checking stock prices and notes from his publicist. Soren had perfected the ways of keeping to his rooms when he wanted to avoid interaction with other human beings, especially his family. He was in his pre-coffee haze, and stepped out of the curtains to find his fireplace had been stoked, and there was black coffee and a croissant waiting for him.

It almost made his morning passable when he stepped out into the cold and had to deal with people, none of who he particularly wanted to know, let alone be related to without nearly enough coffee in his system.

**.**

Soon enough, the rest of Micaiah's bridesmaids arrived. It was in fact, not just maids, but several male members of her 'army' which she included among them, adding flowers to their respective hair, and beards to complete the effect.

Three friends of hers were going through the last dress checks. There were two red haired girls, and one with light purple. On a second glance, he realized he'd seen her before. At his interviews, no less.

"You're..." She thought hard and tapped her lip, thoughtfully. "That one person who was hiring at that one place."

Soren froze. This could put a damper on all his plans. If it came out that he'd hired Ike..well, it might not ruin the wedding, per se, but it would bring up an inevitable family fight which would best be avoided.

"She was at one of your interviews?" Micaiah asked.

"Yes. The interview was at a restaurant, with a buffet...the food was so good, and they let me have seconds!"

"An interview in a restaurant? How strange," Micaiah said. She looked thoughtfully at him, in a way that made Soren feel as if she was reading him. He of course, didn't go for the fortune telling, and other supernatural superstitions, but he did have to admit there was something rather unnerving about her.

"It was a new technique I was trying for a specific position," Soren said.

The first moment he got to himself, he made a call to ensure the buffet was stocked and ready to be refilled at any moment, and then to hire two guards to watch the cake.

After that he kept an eye on her, lest her memory improve. As of yet, the only thing he'd heard from her was related to food, though if she suddenly remembered, things could get troublesome. Soren was in fact, so caught up in thinking of possible exit strategies should things come to light, that he was caught off guard when Ike approached, and rested his hand on Soren's shoulder.

"Something the matter?" Ike asked.

"She was one of the interviews," Soren said in an undertone. He nodded towards Ilyana. "There's a chance she saw you."

"—Soren, Soren, where is that boy? Oh there he is–!"

Almedha always drew attention. Soren sighed, knowing he would be called soon enough for some thing or another. Before he could get up, Ike leaned in, his back to them. He took Soren's face in his hands, and the protest died on Soren's lips. Their lips never touched, as it was nothing more than a forehead brush, but to everyone else on the other side, it looked genuine. His breath was warm against him, his hands rough and yet it wasn't a detractor. It was alluring, even. Though he wanted to shake the cobwebs out of his head just for having alluring appearing in a mental description of Ike without the disclaimer of the attraction being perpetuated by other people.

It wasn't even a kiss, and yet his heart was beating, and he probably looked like a fool there, stunned with his lips slightly parted, his face slightly flushed. Ike let his hands drop to his sides, but he didn't look back at the guests, and probably let them assume that he was looking on adoringly.

"I thought we agreed we were one of those 'no public displays of affection' couples," Soren said in an undertone.

"You save me from crazy stalkers, I save you from possible discovery," Ike said.

Of course. If she saw Ike there, Soren would simply explain it away as Ike being there to visit him. No one would question that. Soren got up, and went to see what his family wanted him for now. He didn't look back to see if Ike might be watching him. He wouldn't let that thought cross his mind.

**.**

The biggest rule of a wedding was the bride's whims were law. If the bride wanted them to dress up in hideous bridesmaid gowns, the bridesmaids did it. If the bride wanted a group meditation to create bonds and soothe the savage energies of the place, then she got it. Frankly, Soren couldn't help but think he would've preferred the former. As long as he wasn't wearing them, that was.

The beat was exotic played from Sothe's mp3 player which usually was tuned into screamo. Via some attachment to a speaker, some device—Soren was never lacking in devices. And now Micaiah wanted them to get in touch with their inner selves or inner children, or maybe the selves of their inner children in a transcendental and peaceful way to join oneselves with the universe–at one point Soren tuned out, so the rest was simply reassembled with buzz words. He didn't think he was missing much. Ike was beside him, looking about as bored and skeptical with it all as he did.

"Check it out, I can twist myself into a pretzel!" Tormod displayed this, as he twisted himself up. As if to prove a point, Sothe put his legs behind his head.

"Whoa, you're flexible..." Tormod said.

Sothe smirked.

Pelleas was failing at the stretching and bending, but failing in a sincere way that still earned him praise from Micaiah. He lit up at the kind words. Soren was bent down, forced into a strange position, and muttering a steady stream of curses.

This was all supposedly to get them in a better state of oneness with the universe. Soren didn't particularly like the universe, and certainly didn't want to 'become one with it'–especially if the dating process would be like this. He let out another stream of curses under his breath as they shifted positions to Micaiah's encouragement.

"Didn't think you could swear like that," Ike said under his breath.

"Well, I'm just full of surprises," Soren muttered back.

He lasted five more minutes of this travesty before he got up and stalked off towards the kitchen. If he was going to make it through the day, he was going to need more coffee.

**.**

Kyza and Ranulf had been kept by certain consulting reasons unrelated to his company, though Soren did suspect that somewhere in a glitter filled bar, Kyza was wearing nothing but a thong and a set of beads, and that Ranulf was taking bodyshots off of his glittery abs. This was generally what he assumed Kyza and Ranulf were doing whenever they weren't around. That and unspeakable things involving storage closets and post-it notes. So it was that the last minute task of finalizing the menus that was laid at Soren's feet. He spent a good portion of an hour trying to get the kinks worked out of his caterers, and of course, double-checking the completion of the cake.

"This is the plans for the menus," Soren said. He handed out the notes, instead of reading them off. Almedha looked on with pride.

"You're so capable. Look at you, running the business all by yourself," Almedha cooed. She reached out, her long fingernails looking like claws as she squeezed his cheeks.

"Mother, please," Soren said. "I've been running it since I was seventeen. I think by now I'd be capable."

Micaiah bit her lip as she looked over the menu. "Meat?" Micaiah said She looked vaguely nauseous. "I don't eat meat any longer."

"But you're a Daein citizen," Pelleas said. "You know the kind of diet we have here..."

"But I gave it up...I couldn't bear hurting my fellow creatures anymore," she said. "It's possible, and now I encourage it. I believe it opens us up to a better, more peaceful existence with our fellow beings on this planet."

"Then you can eat the garnish," Soren said.

"Soren! If..if she doesn't want meat, then she doesn't have to," Pelleas said. He stood a little taller, and tried to look defiant, but even at that he looked uncertain.

He stroked her arm comfortingly. "Really, he's not so bad, just a bit cranky..."

Soren rolled his eyes. "If she didn't want meat, then she should've voiced concern earlier. As it is now, there's mere days until the wedding, and no time to overhaul things."

"But can't we make some last minute changes? I mean, she's the _bride_. It should be _her_ day. If she wants salads and a completely vegan cake, then she should have it," Pelleas said. He looked to her for assurance. "Right...dear?"

"I believe strongly on this issue," she said. "I would feel much more at peace if I knew innocent animals weren't being slaughtered for my sake."

Soren closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. Already his cheek was twitching.

"I'll see if we can't get an alternate vegan order set for her," Soren said.

Pelleas smiled bright, but Soren put his hand to halt any gratitude or hugs that might ensue.

Never mind that most Daein caterers laughed in your face if you asked for vegan specialities, and insinuated that you lacked manliness, and that they did 'the deed' with your mother, sister and lover, regardless of whether you actually had any of those. It was too late to order in an independent caterer from Begnion at this rate. They'd all be booked up for snooty senate parties. He was in charge of aspects of the wedding, and thus he would make sure there were salads if he had to toss them himself.

"_However_, at this time, I believe it would only be an option, not the whole menu," Soren said. "If you wished to make it a whole menu, you should've voiced it earlier."

"That is acceptable," Micaiah said. She looked transcendent and serene, and Pelleas looked like he might keel over just from sheer love of her. Soren turned, as if he had some very important text from his cell phone, and used this opportunity to roll his eyes and mutter a dozen curses or more.

"If you'll excuse me," Soren said. He didn't wait for a reply. He stalked off to his chambers. He needed a quiet, stupidity-free zone for a while to destress, and possibly some pillows to assault. That was, if he had the time.

**.**

Ranulf conveniently came after the menu situation had been resolved. It just reiterated the simple fact that Soren had always known: the only one he was ever going to be able to rely on was himself.

Ranulf reached out for a restrained hug and shoulder pat, and then clapped Ike on the shoulder harder than intended.

"How are you holding up in the lair of the dragon?" Ranulf asked.

"Pretty well, I guess," Ike said.

"Have you shown him yet?" Ranulf asked, without even making a greeting.

"I took him to the Frost Fair, if that's what you mean–"

"Noooo, I mean the cool stuff hidden in the basement," Ranulf said.

"If by 'cool stuff' you mean bodies and implements of torture—"

"No, not that. Though someone would think that was cool, probably," Ranulf said.

"My father was among them," Soren said.

"Yes, yes, he was quite a character. But I mean the fields and stuff!"

"Ah. That. No, I haven't the chance, given the entire revamping of the menu that the bride requested and the transcendental meditation I was subjected to." His lip curled in disgust.

"Yeah, how dare her. She sounds like a real Bridezilla," Ranulf said.

Soren rolled his eyes, but made no response to this.

"Since the ground is frozen over for most of the year, my father decided to fight against the forces of nature, if you will," Soren said.

It was impossible to not notice the other towering buildings near the Keep, though the gothic structure, history and rumors of the Keep tended to draw the eye away. Now, Soren lead the rest of them down through one of the frost covered courtyards to a circular building.

Inside, much to the guest's awe, and Soren's boredom, were a variety of large rooms, each fitted for a particular sport. Ashnard was picky in his sports, and snubbed the less violet sorts such as basketball, for the contact sports such as Hockey, Football and fights to the death.

"Hey, mr groom-to-be, aren't you going to toss the old pigskin around?" Ranulf asked.

"Me?" Pelleas said. He looked around, as if he might be mistaken, and there would be another person who he was referring to.

"Is anyone else getting married here?" Ranulf said.

"Uh, no. I don't think, unless Soren has another secret he's keeping from us," Pelleas said.

Ranulf grinned at Soren. "Well, do you?"

"No. Not that it is any of your concern," Soren said.

"Considering I'd be buying the tuxes, I think it'd be a concern," Ranulf said.

"We wouldn't do the showy thing," Ike said. "Just a small thing. Tuxes probably wouldn't even be needed. It wouldn't really be anyone else's business. Family, a few friends, but that's it."

Soren looked to Ike, more than a little surprised. Ike was playing this far better than expected, though Soren would've answered that they were far too new to even think of marriage.

Soren cleared his throat. "Of course, things would have to be discussed. But as it is...I believe there was a game to play."

"Oh yeah, we should divide up the teams," Ike said. "I'll take Pelleas."

Pelleas had not been picked to play with a lot of sports games. He was always passed over. He looked bright, hopeful, and a little unbelieving at the news. "Y-you really want to pick me?"

"Sure," Ike said.

"Me and Kyza can be Team Gallia. You can be Team Daein, and Ike gets to be an honorary part via dating Soren."

"But Soren..." Pelleas began.

"Will not be playing," Soren said.

"He'll play ref," Ike said.

Soren did know things about football. He had studied it thoroughly in the few times he had tried to keep up with his father before he'd just given up altogether on ever having anything but a dysfunctional relationship with his family.

"All right, let's get this party started!" Ranulf said.

The game that followed resembled a game of keepaway, though through no malice on Ranulf and Ike's part. They were simply taller, stronger and more skilled. Ike carried most of Team Daein while Pelleas looked horribly dismayed and confused. Team Gallia had fabulous touchdown dance, and an advantage given Kyza actually had played football in school.

It didn't resemble any game of football Soren had ever analyzed. It didn't even resemble the games of touch or flag football which Soren never took part in. He had no clue how to referee a game where all the players seemed either completely ignorant to the rules, or simply defying them for some unknown reason. Though, he thought there really was only one choice. When in doubt, pick Ike. It would help the act, and to be fair, he liked Ike more than any of the others, who might do showy displays of affection or teasing at being his given choice.

Pelleas would run one way, lifting his arms so he looked more like the goalpost than anything. If anything, it was a test of wills between Kyza and Ike while Ranulf might as well have been an honorary cheerleader and commenter while Pelleas looked dismayed and lost. The ball went around, changing hands. Ike cradled the ball against him and run towards the edge. One unfortunate time, Pelleas got it. He looked at it in surprise as Kyza hit him in a tackle.

"You okay down there?" Ike asked.

"I...I...let me just catch my breath," Pelleas said.

"You'll be ok," Ranulf said. He bent, and patted Pelleas on the shoulder. "Not bad a bad play."

It was an obvious lie, but Pelleas seemed momentarily comforted.

"Who won?" Ranulf asked. He looked up

"Considering that you defied all laws of all known games of football, no one."

"Come on, somebody had to win," Ranulf said.

"Fine," Soren said. "Ike won."

"Biased, much?" Kyza said.

"Well, he did bribe the ref, if you know what I mean..." Ranulf said. He winked to Kyza, and Kyza chuckled.

"Oh that he did," Kyza said.

Soren cleared his throat. "If you keep it up, you're going to miss the Winged Bowl."

Ike seemed to come alert. He took Pelleas' hand and all but dragged him up, with seeming no effort on his part. After he had pulled him up, Pelleas looked surprised enough to almost keel over again, but Ranulf steadied him.

Ike's motivations were so easy to take advantage of.

But Soren found that he could be quite unpredictable. Instead of simply leaving, he took Soren's arm and guided him along.

"Ike," Soren said.

Ike looked back. "Yeah?"

"We always watch games together. Remember? Since the first date was in a sports bar."

Soren wondered if this wasn't revenge of some sort, though he couldn't think of for what. Still, he hadn't foreseen the amount of backstory Ike would put into this.

"That's sweet," Pelleas offered. "I mean, I didn't think you would be the anniversary keeping type..."

"I'm not. That's his thing," Soren said.

**.**

They all gathered around the giant flatscreen in the den, topped by dragon skulls and claws and an entertainment system made from barbed wire and oak. No one could say that Ashnard didn't watch his football games in style.

Ranulf picked up the snacks. Cheetoes, popcorn, beer, beef jerky, among other things. There's enough food to food a Gallian army, which means it will probably last a few hours between the three of them. Right away, Ike puts his arm over Soren's shoulders. Keeping up the facade, Soren curls close into Ike head to his chest, as if they did this regularly. It isn't a bad position, he supposes. He isn't touchy by nature, but it's preferable than having to have his mother going into one of her fits. Soren was barely tuning into the game as it was. Kyza, Ranulf and Ike were pumped. Pelleas took to the game, possibly in hope there wouldn't be a bachelor party after all. Soren knew he had quite a few reservations towards that custom, especially in regards to whether Micaiah would be secretly angry at him the whole time, or if even worse, she might have a female equivalent of her own and run off with the stripper. Ranulf had offered to find gay strippers for her, but that hadn't really comforted Pelleas on the matter.

He mentally spent the time trying to go over the speech. He's been subjected to plenty of games, so much that he can even feign interest while thinking of other things, and throw enough sports buzz words to sound as if he actually gave a damn about this inane sport.

He left by the half-time show, and manufactured a reasonable enough emergency to excuse his absence. Forty-five minutes of staring at his laptop screen, he wasn't any closer to making headway on the best man's speech.

Eventually he gave up, and came down to the lower den. The Winged Bowl was just winding down and considering Ike and Ranulf's good spirits, it must have been a victory for whatever teams they favored. Pelleas had his hands in his lap, looking awkward. He must've cheered when the wrong team scored again. Lack of sports skills was one of their father's biggest issues with them. That and lack of willingness and ability to tear apart their enemies with their bare hands. Soren had at least studied the basics (on both fronts), and could hold down a conversation, despite his apathy, but Pelleas always remained clueless in these matters, no matter how he tried. He was clueless in a lot of things, such as which side to take when it came to his dear mother and soon-to-be wife.

As it was, Micaiah and Almedha already were showing signs of not getting along. Micaiah wanted world peace and understanding; Almedha wanted to peons to stay in their place. She had snubbed her, and their family by refusing to wear the royal queen's cloak, made with fur, or the new fur-lined leather boots she'd offered her, or to attend the traditional pig slaughter that made up the beginning of the Frost Fair, and would tide the families over until after the new year.

It was after the show was over, and in their connected rooms while Ike changed out of his shirt that was now filled with salsa and cheeto stains that Ike voiced the same thoughts Soren had been thinking.

"Somehow, I think their relationship is going to be the sort of thing bad mother-in-law jokes are made of," Ike said.

"Just be glad mother skipped the family tradition of drinking from the chalice," Soren said.

"The chalice? That doesn't sound too bad, or is Micaiah anti-wine now, too?"

"The chalice my father carved from skull of one of his favorite enemies?" Soren said.

"Forget I asked," Ike said.

**.**

Ranulf was hardly finished at any rate. After the game, instead of actual family time, or work on the many things which were in dire need of being checked a millionth time over, Ranulf decided that their bro time was not quite finished. Pelleas retired, citing an actual need to spend time with his fiancé, but Ike and Soren were not quite so lucky.

The light down in the basements was dim, and the air always smelled faintly musty. The stairs were made of stone, but could get slick and near untraversable in this time of the year. Far be it from fix the stairs, Ashnard had made them to up the challenge and amusement factor. More than once to add to the game, he'd push the person down them if the stairs didn't do the job for him. All of them made it down this time, however. Ranulf had reached it first, citing something about feline grace. Kyza was elsewhere, the only one of them at the moment to do actual work.

"You know, you never told me about the pool table before. Kyza had to let me know when he was playing hide and seek with me. Any chance there's a minibar down here too?" Ranulf said.

"There's an entire wine cellar down here," Soren said.

Soren of course knew what the hide and seek was a metaphor for. He managed to keep his disapproving glares to himself, but just barely, and only because he had to hold only Ike in front of him, so he wouldn't fall down headfirst to the stones and join every other person who had died on these stairs.

"Nice," Ranulf said. "The cues aren't made from the bones of his enemies, are they?" Ranulf looked close at one, and gave it a sniff.

"They're just regular cues," Soren said.

Ike and Ranulf readied their cues for a game, passing light conversation which Soren wasn't paying attention to. Soren sat at the sole chair in the room, which had seen better days. The leather was cracked, the wood had more than a few scratch marks and suspicious dark stains. Soren crossed his legs, and folded his hands on his lap.

"I'd ask you to play, but I know you'll just excuse out and maybe insult my mother in the process," Ranulf said.

"Hardly," Soren said. "Your father, however..."

"My father was a total tomcat," Ranulf said with a grin.

"Ike will just have to win in my stead," Soren said.

"I'll do my best," Ike said.

Soren leaned back, barely watching. He was a very competent person, in both academics and administrative positions. It was only actually interacting with people that his incompetence came to light. Ike leaned over and made the first strike, knocking the balls free from the triangle. He was wearing a black t-shirt of Ranulf's which was tight on him, and not simply because of the size difference between them. Soren couldn't help but see that he was now the envy of most of the single girls, and a few of the taken ones as well—to say nothing of some of the men, such as Kyza, who leaned that way. Even Soren, who had been a barren wasteland when it came to romance, had to admit that Ike was a nice find for matters such as this. There was something charming about his good nature, his hero-like persona which made him likable and his faults of bluntness and lack of manners forgivable. Unlike Ranulf, his charm wasn't structured to make him get away with as much as possible. Soren didn't think Ike had a single bit of artifice in his body, so much so that this job must be stretching him to his limits. Soren had seen no history of acting in his resume, and doubted he'd even made it into a school play, all things considered. Still, he was proving quite competent in this farce.

He might pay him extra, just for that. The foreclosure on his family home had already been stayed, but a little bonus for never lapsing in character and checking out a woman's low neckline, even when it was shoved in his face wouldn't be out of line.

He'd almost regret not having him around for other family gatherings, if only because it lessened the older women who wanted to get their claws into his family fortune via their daughters, nieces or cousins.

Love could have its uses after all.

**.**

"He plays a mean game of pool," Ike said as they shuffled out into the streets past the gates of the Keep.

"For a moment there, I thought you'd win," Soren replied.

"Me too," Ike said. "But Ranulf's a poolshark. Or maybe just a cheat."

"A cheat," Soren said. "I'm sure I can find plenty of reliable sources for that one."

"Probably," Ike said.

Technically, the house was filled with all kinds of beer, but as it was, his family had him on edge, and a half hour's respite was worth the walk in the cold. They walked out of the gates without being questioned by the gatekeeper, and walked into Nevassa. Soren had offered to summon Bryce to drive them, but Ike had turned down the idea. Besides, the walk wasn't too long, so Soren didn't push the issue. The place they were headed was one of the worse parts of town. Soren wouldn't have been out here alone, but he didn't think anyone would try and confront them with Ike around. Either way, he kept his hood up and his gaze averted from the people at the corners. Ike's expression hardened at the sight of them, his jaw set. Ike reached into his pockets and left gald at every filthy street kid or vagrant he saw, whether they were awake, or sleeping clutching a bottle. Some cursed him, others looked wary, while others looked up with almost a sense of awe.

"They'll just go waste it," Soren said. "The Beorc race is fundamentally selfish. Even if it doesn't get automatically wasted on alcohol, it'll probably be stolen from them before the night is over."

"I do what I can," Ike said.

"They'll slit each other's throats to get the slightest bit ahead. This isn't Crimea with its morals and idealism. It'd do you good to remember that."

Ike didn't reply, and they walked in silence all the long way back to the Keep.

**.**

He and Ike hadn't talked since the last alcohol run. They'd walked home without another word, and gone to separate sides of the house. Soren sifted through his emails in a quiet corner. There were always quiet nooks and places to get lost in the Keep. His publicist had kept him informed of the news. There'd been another protest of late, some ten death threats, and another investigative journalist trying to make his name by exposing some other atrocity his father had committed. All tedious and routine stuff, that nonetheless required his ladylike, quiet publicist to come and address the masses.

His publicist thought the best of everyone. Quite so, given her history of fiances. First a corrupt senator who met his end, and second a drunken gambler. It was only by Ranulf's 'consulting' that he knew this (though more often than not it resembled gossip).

"It's come again, Mr. Nevassa, sir," she said apologetically. "The letters. They're accusing you of being branded, and threatening to reveal it to the world."

Soren closed his eyes, his hand tightening on the phone. Old prejudices lingered long in Daein. Crimea was more accepting, but only at the veneer. It was fashionable to be accepting in public, but keep the hate hidden behind empty words of love and peace.

"Mr. Nevassa? Should I prepare an official statement—"

"No," Soren said. "Next time, only call if you have something other than rumors that belong in a _tabloid_."

"Yes, Mr Nevassa," she said apologetically. He closed the phone without bothering with a goodbye.

His reception had been spotty at best. The snow had fallen heavily all day, and now, as the phone rung again. He opened the phone without checking the readout, it crackled into static.

Soren swore under his breath. He couldn't get a good connection here. He stepped outside for a moment, the waiters barely taking notice as he walked by. He wasn't looking forward to awkwardly sitting by his paid date after their disagreement earlier, and going through the motions of being a happy couple during the rehearsal.

"What is it now?" Soren said

_You will pay for the crimes of your family,"_ came the hiss through the crackle of static.

Soren rolled his eyes. "You'll have to be more creative than that, considering this is the thirtieth death threat I've received this week."

The phone connection went dead, and Soren shook his head. A wasted trip outside into the cold. He turned and headed back. He heard the crunching of snow behind him, another hiss. He turned to see a shadowed shape coming closer.

"More creative? How about _this_, human! This is for the members of my race you have slaughtered!"

The laguz pounced, and he slammed against the wall hard enough to draw blood. There was a snapping sound, the phone fell into a snowbank as Soren slumped against the wall, his vision darkening until he was only aware of the predator which had closed in on him.


	5. Chapter 5 Part One

Title: Frost Fair (5/5 part one)  
Day/Theme: 5/26 - desperate situation  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: Last chapter! Thanks for sticking with me, guys. Thanks to Ammy for encouraging me to write this in the first place, and random squeeage along the way. This part had to be split into two because it's very long (on lj, anyways.)

Thanks to Joss for the beta.

**. **

It wasn't until morning that Soren's absence was noticed. The rehearsal had already been postponed to the next day, due to some untimely bridesmaid and bridesman hangovers. Most had assumed that he had turned in early, and Ike had even left the lights off and tried to go as quietly as he could through the room half-drunk as he was. It wasn't until later, when a staff member noticed the message, that his absence was even realized. There was a smear of blood on the wall, a bloody handprint. Just above it, that same blood was smeared into letters.

_Sons will pay for the sins of their fathers_.

Buried in the snow was Soren's cell phone–the one he was never without, that seemed surgically attached. Ike was the one who lifted it up from the snow and stared down at the device in his hands.

"This is why we need heavier laws imposed on subhumans," said the first police officer. He had a thick brown beard, and brown eyes set close together. Micaiah twitched at this. Even Ranulf's smile froze on his face. Kyza looked like he wanted to claw out the man's eyes.

Ike just kept staring at the wall with the drying blood freezing there, as if it would impart some magical truth about where Soren was hidden away.

**.**

Pelleas looked on the verge of fainting. He sat on the bed, and Micaiah rubbed his arm soothingly.

"How could this happen?" Pelleas said. "Oh...how?"

"Okay, what do we know?" Ike asked. He was the most composed of the bunch, unlike Almedha and Pelleas, who were quickly descending into hysterics.

"Not much," Ranulf said.

He was cut off as Tormod barged in. "Hey, we got something!"

He pulled out the phone. "Okay, so the police here are incompetent and I got Sothe to lift it so I could see the specs and I was messing around with his phone for the he–"

Micaiah glared at him.

"I mean, _to help_, when I found something. Apparently Soren's phone was recording when this was all happening. Just like him to have it be freeze proof or something. Actually this is some pretty sweet technology—"

"_Tormod_," Micaiah said.

"Getting it! Here."

Tormod replayed the message. They heard the crunching snow, the last taunt and the snapping, crunching sound of bones being broken. Almedha stifled a sob as she pressed a handkerchief over her mouth. A solemnness had fallen over the festivities. Ranulf's face had frozen in a blank expression for a moment. Then he quietly excused himself, in a way which wasn't lost on the only person in the room who was viewing things with a clear head.

Ike followed him outside, the sound of Almedha's sobbing and the murmur of conversation in the room behind them.

"Hey, Ike," Ranulf said. He forced a smile.

"Who is it, Ranulf?" Ike asked.

Ranulf hedged shifting from foot to foot. "What makes you think I know? I mean, I'm a well-connected guy, but that hardly means I know every last laguz. For all I know, it could be one of the hawks, or a raven. They're pretty pissed at Ashnard. We all were."

Ike didn't back down an inch."Who is it?" He asked again. "I saw your face. You recognize the voice. Soren's life is in danger here."

Ranulf sighed. "Listen...she's not that bad, it's just—her sister got taken in, okay? Daein's past isn't all roses, you know. Ashnard used to lure us in, kidnap us, whatever means he could. He'd put us under the feral drug and turn us into the mindless killing machines...We eventually got Lyre back and she's pretty much normal, but ever since then her sister's been a little...well, off."

"Her _name_, Ranulf. I need her name," Ike said. He gripped Ranulf by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey, watch it. You could break bones there," Ranulf said. Ike didn't respond, didn't apologize, just stared Ranulf down.

Ranulf sighed. "I can't help but feel I'm selling my own out...it's Lethe. I'm sure it's her voice. And no, I haven't a clue where she's holed up. We haven't talked in ages. She went off somewhere months ago. No one has been in contact with her, except maybe Lyre, but she hasn't said anything about Lethe."

"But you'd recognize her scent, right?" Ike persisted.

"I'm glad you have such faith in me, but my nose isn't _that_ strong. There's thousands of smells and the scent grows cold really fast. Plus, knowing her, he probably isn't even in the city anymore. She'd hate to be around beorcs, especially in Nevassa where the whole Feral program started.

"You're a Gallian. What would she be doing now?" Ike asked.

"Lethe...it's difficult to say. Like I said, she's not been...right since then. It's been very 'us-verses-them'. She's really gone against what she considers 'beorc technology' so she's probably taken to the brush. There were high winds last night, so any tracks or scent would be gone."

"Listen, Ike...Lethe, she's lethal. No pun intended. I'm not sure how long Soren has. If he's lucky, maybe she decided to play with him and make him suffer for what happened to the rest of us. If not..." Ranulf let his voice trail off meaningfully.

Ike muttered a curse and slammed his fist into the wall. He didn't even seem to notice when his knuckles had turned bloody.

"We're getting him back," Ike said. "And he's coming back alive."

"I've only seen you like this once before," Ranulf said quietly. "Three years ago."

He didn't say the next words–he didn't have to. Ike just stared back, his expression unchanged from the stony determination.

_When your father died. When you lost someone you loved._

"Well, I'm sure if anyone will succeed with these odds, it'd be you," Ranulf said.

Ike nodded tersely and opened the door. There were still flecks of blood there from his hand.

**.**

His leg was at an unnatural angle. It hurt to breathe. It was cold. He slowly, painfully came to consciousness. The room he was in was dark and cold. So unbearably cold. He tried to reach up, only to find his hand chained to the wall. He could barely tell the surroundings. Some sort of dungeon? A cog, torture implements. It reminded him of his father's secret rooms that he had uncovered–perhaps it was.

"How does it feel to be chained, human?" The voice taunted.

His mouth was dry. The pain was so severe he felt nausea rising up, but he wouldn't stoop so low as to beg. That was just what she wanted.

He took a shaky breath and forced himself to look his captor in their eyes. It wouldn't do to show weakness.

"How much do you want? I will have it wired to you," he said.

And then traced, and recovered when she was incarcerated.

"Money? _Money_ won't buy your freedom. You'll be turned into a mindless animal from the pain...just like her."

The look she gave him was so vacant with hate. That was what lodged in his mind, his last thought before the blinding pain came again, and she turned the cog, making his bonds turn into a vice. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of his wrist snapping, and blacking out from the blinding pain.

**.**

It'd been hours, and as of yet, the police hadn't uncovered a thing. Micaiah was the one who dealt with the police, even through their bigotry. Her face clouded over as they said hateful things about feral subhumans running around. But her response was calmer than Almedha, who was ripping apart at the seams, or Tormod, who seemed liable to punch the police in the face if they said 'dirty subhuman' one more time. Obviously there would be nothing but distrust for Ranulf and Kyza, so they stuck to the background lest they get incarcerated on charges of being 'in league' with the kidnapper.

Sothe, too, sat as far away from the police force as he could. He had never done well with the police, given his history of theft and vandalism. There were too many memories of his stint in juvie.

The bridesmaids and bridesmen had gathered, quietly murmuring together. Pelleas and Almedha had pulled away. Ike was there too, standing at a distance, seemingly lost in thought.

"If I may..." Micaiah stepped into the room. "I could be of some assistance."

"You saw something, love?" Pelleas asked.

She nodded in response to his question, but it was the group she addressed, not simply him.

"I have powers beyond the scope of most beorc kind. It is...the laguz blood in me."

Pelleas blanched, and Almedha's gaze hardened. She clenched her fist about her handkerchief, while Pelleas wrung his hands in his lap. Neither commented, save for a little gasp on the part of Pelleas.

Micaiah did not glance their way.

Ike looked more than a little skeptical, as if in Soren's absence, he had to make up for the lack of cynical skepticism and prevent Micaiah from turning it into a feel-good meditation retreat.

"Do you have anything of Soren's that is important to him?" Micaiah asked.

"His laptop?" Ranulf suggested. "He's never without it. And I mean never. I bet he even sleeps with it by his side."

"No...the energies of electronic things will make the aura muddled...I won't be able to read it correctly. Is there anything else?" She asked.

"Soren...he was never really sentimental? Even about computers, he'd just upgrade it when the time came. I honestly can't think of anything he ever held dear," Pelleas said.

Ike reached into his coat and pulled out a thick gold scarf. "I don't know how important this is, but he lent this to me the other day."

She touched over it, her eyes going half-lidded, into an almost trance-like state.

"Yes...this will do. I can feel his energies here," Micaiah said. She closed her eyes, and seemed to faintly glow. For several moments she stood there, holding the scarf and mouthing the words of a chant.

Finally, she opened her eyes again.

"I can find him," she said.

Almedha pursed her lips. Pelleas touched Almedha's arm.

"Mother, don't you think you should go rest? See, they're going to find him..."

Almedha's glance was sharp, and Pelleas visibly flinched at it, but she lightened for a moment, and allowed herself to be led from the room to the promise of tea.

"This isn't a solo affair, right?" Ranulf said. "I mean, it's Gallia's affair and when it comes down to it. We might be able to talk her out of it."

"Of course," Micaiah said. "But I don't think too many should accompany us. We need to move quickly and not have her catch our scent."

"Before we go, I think it'd best to leave the beorc policemen out of this?" Micaiah said. She looked back, giving a meaningful glance to the rest of the room. "If you involve them, the laguz who kidnapped Soren is as good as dead."

"It's fine with me," Ike said. He was already putting on his coat and gloves. He bent to retie the snow boots he had never bothered to change out of.

"All right, then we should probably go out then, let these two love birds have a moment alone to say goodbye," Ranulf said. He motioned to where Pelleas stood, quietly shifting from foot to foot, and waiting for a moment until he wouldn't be interrupting or intruding.

"...Yes," Micaiah said. "I will be there shortly."

Ranulf steered Ike and Kyza out with one hand on both their shoulders, and closed the door behind them.

"M-Micaiah..." Pelleas began. "I..." He shook his head, and paused a moment before he began again.

Pelleas did not come quite as close as he did before. There was a wariness to him now, as if he was still taking in the news.

"Mother's taken a sedative, so–"

"...I think it would be best if you stayed. It could be dangerous. You should watch over her. I promise I'll bring your brother back," Micaiah said. Her voice was quiet, but filled with conviction.

"And I'd just be a burden," Pelleas finished for her.

"I didn't say that," she said.

"You didn't have to," Pelleas said. "We already knew it was implied. No matter what, I'm going to be the weak, useless, Iloser/I brother. "

Micaiah sighed. "We don't have time for this. Your brother is in danger."

"Yes, it's always him, isn't it?" Pelleas said.

Micaiah didn't reply.

Pelleas sighed too, and made his way towards the door, stumbling slightly, and closing the door behind him not in a rough slam, but in such a quiet way as if he was apologizing for his mere existence.

**.**

They bundled up. They couldn't use machines, lest they alert the target laguz. It was slow going, as a storm had come up during the night and dumped even more snow over the rocky surface of Daein.

Micaiah led the way. She held the scarf, looking out with half-lidded eyes as she walked, almost drunkenly through the streets towards the gates.

"She went that way..."

Outside of Nevassa was an arctic wasteland. Most of the roads were out, for what sectors weren't rendered impassable by the tall snow drifts were slick with ice. And yet, it was out here, into the white hills of snow that she led them.

They didn't talk. She'd motion them on with a wave of her hand. She seemed to have far less trouble with the snow, whether it was because of her laguz blood, or being a natural Daein citizen, she walked much easier than Ike, who seemed to be falling into knee-deep snow at alarming frequency.

However, it wasn't deeper into the wilderness that they found themselves being led, but doubling back into the darker forgotten history of Nevassa, and the last legacy of Ashnard.

**.**

He tasted blood in his mouth.

It wasn't his first time being kidnapped. However, being stolen away wasn't something one could learn from. Soren was too naturally acerbic to have what it took to be a good hostage.

He remembered how it had gone. Someone had taken him and given him to a woman who seemed to despise his very existence–to hate him simply for being.

He had been kept in her damp basement for what he later learned to be months, alone in the dark, the woman seemingly disgusted by his mere presence.

He was rescued later–purchased, really–by a man who thought he might have had a particular talent.

Soren closed his eyes as the last memories came–the realization that came years later when setting his father's files in order. Ashnard had a filing system which only he could understand, but when Soren had figured out the gist of it–broken through codes and seemingly extraneous information placed to form a shield for the true nature–he realized.

He had been nothing but a pawn, then. His father had wanted a Goldoan to turn feral, but when he hadn't turned out to be the killing machine his father had wanted, Ashnard had turned to other possibilities.

Such as his mother's brother.

In the end, Ashnard had orchestrated each part of the kidnapping, watching over with faint interest, keeping him just alive long enough to manipulate Almedha into selling out her own family.

And it had come full circle. Now he was captive of the same feral program he had been a pawn of so many years ago.

It was almost as if this was one last move played by Ashnard from beyond the grave.

**.**

Through the frozen gates, they slipped into a forgotten part of Daein: A network of tunnels started by their previous king, leading to unknown horrors. After the first tunnel, which up until partway had been filled with drifts that had blown in, and the walls covered in ice, it began to thaw into a dark, murky place that seemed heated by some untold power source.

They came to a fork in the road, where several tunnels branched outwards. Micaiah had been silent until she came to this, but at the sight of the bones, she began to pale.

The tunnels were littered with old bones. Most of them were animal bones–some laguz, others small animals whose bones had marks gnawed into them, and deep grooves–others were beorc, with cloth and hair still attached, but rotting away.

Kyza pulled a delicate lace handkerchief from his pocket and put it over his face.

"Oh..." Micaiah said. She winced, and leaned into the wall. When her hand touched the damp stones, she drew it away as if she had been burned.

Ranulf reached to steady her. "You okay there?"

"The aura here...it's toxic. The poor creatures, their suffering remains here. I can feel their fear, their hunger and pain...he stole their identity away and turned them into beasts."

Her golden eyes closed, and she held tight to the scarf.

"I can't feel him here," Micaiah said. "I'm sorry, but–"

"Well, then we'll just have to look," Ike said. Ike began to peer down each one, shining the flashlight. The tunnels were seemingly identical, with no clues of spots of blood, or a strand of hair wrapped around a rock.

Not that blood would be particular helpful in a place like this.

Finally, Ike seemed to simply pick one at random and began to walk towards it.

"Uh, Ike, these tunnels go on for hundreds of miles–it's like a freakin' labyrinth in here. There might even be a Minotaur stocked away, I wouldn't know. And we're kind of lacking in magic string," Ranulf said.

"We're going to find him," Ike said.

"Ike, my man–lemme put it this way: _We could get lost in here and die_. We need to think this through and—"

Ike seemed nonplussed. He just kept walking through the one he had picked, the upper left tunnel.

"His bull-headed determination to save Soren is so romantic," Kyza sighed. "And so dreamy."

"Hey, I can be dreamy too," Ranulf protested.

"Of course you can," Kyza said dismissively. "Now I should go help him, so he doesn't get lost and feel alone."

Ranulf frowned as Kyza disappeared too. "Geez, man, that's harsh... But, full speed ahead to save the princess, I guess," Ranulf said. "You wanna stay back, Micaiah? We won't blame you if you do. Maybe you can call in the cavalry or something."

She shook her head. "Can't you feel it like this? Isn't it overwhelming for you?" Micaiah asked.

Ranulf shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly choose this place for a rave, but...I've gotta be strong for them. If not, then their suffering was in vain. And poor Lethe is probably going crazy in here with all these smells-well, crazier, at least."

Micaiah lifted her chin defiantly and stood up straighter, then, as if she were fighting the forces which had so overwhelmed her. "Then I will go on, too. If the family allows, perhaps I can perform a purifying ceremony when this is all over," Micaiah said.

"You do that," Ranulf said. He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "But right now, I'm thinking we should try and catch up. Kyza and Ike sort of have a head start on us."

"All right," she said.

They began to walk towards the upper left tunnel.

**.**

The tunnel was a dead end. It was in fact, a luckier find than the second tunnel, which had what had once been a beorc impaled on a stake. The skull still seemed to be locked in a scream of agony.

Micaiah bit back a sob as she turned away from the remains.

"Goddess rest their soul," she whispered.

"Not this tunnel either," Ike said. He turned away, without focusing more on the tunnel, or the remains.

Ike had held up the best of them. Despite his earlier bravado, Ranulf had taken on a more haggard expression with each tunnel they tried, and Kyza looked as if the stew he'd eaten before they left might come up again.

They wearily went back to the first path. Micaiah sighed and rested against a large stone.

"This is useless..." Micaiah said. Her silver hair had cobwebs stuck in now. She brushed them away.

"Stay back, then," Ike said.

"You really stick close to your contracts. I bet you'll have that on your headstone. 'He held to his contracts hardcore.'"

Micaiah gave Ranulf a searching look.

"Then what I read was true?

"Er, read?" Ranulf said.

All of them were looking at her now.

"It is one of the skills I possess, along with the aura reading," Micaiah said.

"You should go gambling with us sometime," Ranulf said. "We could make a killing."

"No, thank you," she murmured.

"I sensed a contract, a falseness..and yet something true in all of that charade," Micaiah said.

She touched the stone again and looked down, frowning.

"Did you find something?" Ranulf asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Perhaps..."

She bent before the stone and examined it. It was on the larger side, mottled colors of grey with undertones of brown and flecked pink and slightly pointed at the top. But it wasn't the stone itself which she had brushed, but a square of material packed down near it.

She seemed in a trance as she took it up.

"What did you find? Is it something of his?" Ike asked.

Her only response was a toneless _Follow me._

She made her way towards the first tunnel Ike had chosen.

"Uh, hate to harsh your findings and all, but we already went down that path," Ranulf said.

She moved on still, without replying.

Kyza shrugged. "I haven't exactly seen a better way. She did look convincing, though. Like Crossing Over, but better."

Ike had already begun to follow her, and Kyza and Ranulf soon joined them.

She pushed at the wall near where the dead end was. As she rubbed at a place, there was a seal hidden by years of grime. It had an emblem of a wyvern and a spear.

"Well, this is certainly the path less traveled," Ranulf said. "You sure this is the right way?"

"This is quicker than the path the laguz took," Micaiah said just as tonelessly.

"Well, you should know, you're the psychic," Ranulf said.

Micaiah touched the wall again, with a look of deep sadness. "She took the long way, and has seen worse terrors of this labyrinth. The pain in her soul has only increased..."

Micaiah frowned as she pushed against it. Ike motioned for her to step aside.

"Ike, you're strong and all, but that's not going to wor—"

Ike shouldered his weight against the wall, and the hidden door swung open on rusty hinges.

"...forget I ever doubted you," Ranulf said.

Kyza looked starry eyed, while Micaiah's expression was as enigmatic as ever.

"Let us go, then," she said again, in those same even trance-like tones.

The tunnel went on for what they estimated to be about a half mile underground. They noted a sloping feel, as if they were going even deeper underground to whatever untold horrors Ashnard had kept here. But eventually, the path led to a larger room, filled with the sort of torture devices Ashnard reveled in.

Except many of these were modified for animals. The iron maidens augmented in feline shapes, still stained with old blood.

Micaiah stifled a cry at this, and both Kyza and Ranulf seemed shaken. The room was filled with these torture devices, and in one middle one–a vice and shackles attached to the wall–Soren hung, barely conscious.

A Gallian girl paced back and forth in front of her captive. In different circumstances, she wouldn't sensed them immediately, but most scents would be obscured by the lingering stench of blood, fear and pain left in this place. She did not hear them, for she was lost in some place inside herself.

"Let me try first," Ranulf said in an undertone. "I grew up with her."

"But Captain," Kyza protested. "You can't go in alone."

"I won't be. If she freaks, then you'll have my back," Ranulf said.

Kyza smiled as if this was some secret joke between them. "I always have your back, sir."

"See, that's what I'm talking about," Ranulf said with a wink. He walked out as they stayed in the shadow's beyond the faint reach of light from the room.

"It's been a long time, Lethe," Ranulf said in his most casual, soothing tone.

She turned on her heel and regarded him warily. She did not reply, but Ranulf went on, trying to form a connection with her.

"Come on, Lethe. You don't want to do this. It was a great kidnaping and all, but this won't solve anything," Ranulf said.

"They took my sister, and so I will take his son as my revenge," she said.

"But we got Lyre back and she's okay," Ranulf said. "So–"

Lethe cut him off with a growl.

"You've gone to their side! You-You _human lover!_" She choked back a sob of frustration, and then roared in anger to cover up her momentary weakness.

"Listen to me, Lethe. He's not the enemy," Ranulf said. He stepped in her path, gripped her shoulders. She fought against him, raking her nails to whatever part she could reach, but he kept holding on.

"Not the enemy? All humans are the enemy! They _tortured us._ They put us in little cells and made us fight each other for their amusement. They turned us into robots–no feelings, no thoughts–and they did that to my _sister!_ I can never forgive him that, never!"

From the vices, Soren opened his eyes. He winced in pain as he coughed, and then shakily began to speak.

"...Yes, the man who you call my father did that," Soren said. "It was unprofitable, and I dismantled the program. It does not exist anymore."

"But it _did_," Lethe said. "And that's all that matters. A life for a life."

"...Not surprising. You're nothing but a beast," Soren said. He looked at her with disdain, and coughed again. "...No better than him."

"What did you call me?" Lethe roared. Ranulf fought to keep control of her.

"Do you need assistance?" Kyza asked Ranulf as he hold of her. She struggled, clawed both Kyza and Ranulf while he did little more than flinch, but she couldn't break out of Kyza's hold.

"Yeah, good timing," Ranulf said. "Sorry, Lethe, but I gotta do this... You'll thank me one day." She reached out to claw him, but just then, strong arms gripped her, holding her immobile.

"It's for your own good," Kyza said with a tinge of regret.

"Like you two _traitors_ would know anything about my own well being! You have lost your pride as a Gallian. Look at you now, both of you are working for the same company as the man who enslaved Lyre!"

"This isn't Ashnard. Soren isn't sending us to our deaths—even if I wonder if he's trying to work us to death instead," Ranulf said.

His attempt at humor did nothing to lighten this situation and she let our an angry yowl and slashed at them. This time, they couldn't keep her as she began to transform. Her humanoid shape turned into that a large, sleek dun-colored cat, roughly the size of a cougar. She broke free from them, and bounded towards where Soren was shackled to the wall. He showed no fear, or even alarm as she advanced on him.

But those razor-sharp claws never touched him, for Ike stepped in front of her, and took the brunt of her first assault. Feathers went through the air as the front of his down jacket was shredded. But Ike was quick too, if not quite as fast or with such feline grace. He grabbed her in a wrestler's hold around the neck, and she flailed about, looking for anything of him to tear into.

She sunk her teeth into his arm, bits of feathers turning red as more down was ripped into. He only flinched, and did let go of her.

Ranulf and Kyza ran to him, and together, they were able to subdue her, despite her screams of _traitor! traitor!_

Ike shakily got up, and made his way to where Soren was.

"Ike..."

"You're safe now," Ike said. He began to try and work free the lock.

"You're hurt..." Soren said.

"Less than you are," Ike said without looking up. "Either way, we'll both get treated when we get out of here."

Micaiah stepped out of the shadows as they finally got shackles on Lethe's wrists.

"Listen, Soren...let Gallia deal with its own problems," Ranulf said. "We could say the laguz got away."

"Please?" Micaiah pleaded. "She's such a tortured soul, and I'm afraid the Daein people would only lynch her to make an example."

"Do what you want..." Soren said between parched lips. His eyes were barely open. Ike bent down to renew efforts where the chain was attached to the wall. He took the chain between his hands and began to pull it apart. At first, nothing happened. Then, as he pulled, the chains broke loose from the stone wall.

Before anyone could protest, he scooped Soren's tiny, battered body up bridal style, oblivious to the bleeding wounds down his chest and arm.

"You're safe now," he said again. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He brushed Soren's hair away from his face and murmured something soft and comforting.


	6. Chapter 5 Part Two

Title: Frost Fair (5/5 part two)  
Day/Theme: 5/31. love can change any pessimist  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren eventual, Pelleas/Micaiah  
Summary: Soren, the head CEO of Nevassa Corp, is entirely tired of his mother's nagging, and so  
sets out to hire a date for the holidays and his brother's upcoming wedding. After several disastrous interviews, he comes across Ike who thought it was a bodyguard job and really needs the money.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: And this is truly the last part. Thanks to Joss for betaing. Any remaining errors are mine, as I couldn't leave it alone and had to revise a part of the ending while I was at it.

With luck, I'll be revising earlier parts of the story, along with other works over the summer with my beta.

I had fun, and hope you guys all enjoyed the ride. Thank you for all your comments, encouragement and whatnot. I hope to see you all again in future endeavors~

**.**

The hospital room was claustrophobic in its smallness, and the whole brightness of the place was giving him a headache. He wasn't cold, though. He squinted up and heard a scuffing of feet, and the light being dimmed.

There was a dry, foul taste in his mouth. He groaned. Pain radiated through his body, seemingly from every pore and muscle.

"Good to see you back," Ike said. He sat down on the chair near the bed.

"How long have I been out?" Soren asked.

"A while?" Ike squinted at his watch, which was turned inwards towards his wrist.

"About ten hours, I think," Ike said. He stretched and yawned. There was a bandage over his left arm, just visible under his green t-shirt with a camouflage pattern. His beat-up army jacket–one of the few things he had been allowed to take with him—lay over Soren's chest.

"Everyone else went back. There was talk of calling hospital security on me, but Micaiah did some of her empathy Voodoo Jedi mind tricks. Also I towered over the guy."

"Heh..." Soren flinched, and touched to his rib cage. Both his wrists were in splints. The IV bag near the bed tottered for a moment, but Ike steadied it.

Ike reached out, but stopped just short of touching Soren. "Careful, now..."

"How hurt am I?" Soren asked.

"Lots of bruises, broken wrists, broken leg, broken arm and three broken ribs. Maybe more, I don't remember the details. It was pretty bad when you came in."

"Ten hours...that'd mean that the wedding is in a few hours," Soren said.

"Don't worry about the wedding," Ike said.

"I've spent the last sixteen years of my life having to deal with demands about grandchildren.. I had to hire a date to be at this wedding. Pelleas is getting married even if I have to put a shotgun to his back," Soren said in irritation.

"At this point...I'm not even sure if there's going to _be_ a wedding," Ike said.

"What?" Soren said incredulously.

"Micaiah and Pelleas apparently got in a fight or something. Something about not being sure she can marry into a family of murderers. I only heard it secondhand, as it apparently happened at The Keep."

Soren blinked, realization finally dawning past the haze of painkillers. "You stayed here all night?"

"I've been here since they moved you here," Ike said. He stated it simply, as if it merited no question that he would keep up the facade and pretend to be his lover.

"I see," Soren said. "Help me up."

"You're still injured–you might hurt yourself worse–"

"I have a job to do with a nervous groom, a meddling mother and a family of the bride who consists of thieves. I need to keep them from stealing the draperies, Pelleas from going into a fetal position and my mother from scaring the bride away. I don't have _time_ to be hurt."

They stared each other down. If Soren's hands hadn't been in a cast, he wouldn've put both of them on his hips.

"You're the boss," Ike said.

Ike carefully picked Soren up and carried him bridal style out, the IV rolling along with them.

**.**

Actually getting home involved a pay phone and getting ahold of Bryce and convincing him that the Nevassa legacy was in danger, and being the son of Ashnard, he could handle a few broken bones. There was also the matter of stealing a wheelchair, but that was quite a bit easier than the first.

When they arrived, Ike was still carrying Soren. Getting up the stairs had been a chore, but finally they made it to where Micaiah, her brother and his friend were gathered in one of the guest bedrooms.

Tormod knelt before the door, and peered under the crack.

"I could blow up the door," Tormod said hopefully.

"You're not blowing up the door," Micaiah said.

"Pelleas locked himself in a closet and won't come out," Sothe said. He rolled his eyes and looked over at the closet in disdain.

"As you can see, I have to get my brother to come out of the closet now," Soren said.

"Interesting phrasing," Ike said.

"Said by the one who has a boyfriend," Tormod piped in.

"Pelleas, please come out of the closet," Micaiah said.

"I can't."

The redhead was snickering. Micaiah shot him a _you're not helping_ glare. She knelt down on her knees beside the door.

"Pelleas..." Micaiah said.

"I don't blame you for it all, really. Father did some horrible things..."

"I was wrong to have blamed you," Micaiah said. "They were his crimes, not yours."

"It doesn't help that poor sub-hum—laguz any," Pelleas said softly. "She still felt it, no matter which of us was doing it. Besides I...I felt prejudice towards the laguz, and the Branded. I never would've guessed you were one of them."

Micaiah fell silent too.

"I should have told you. I thought I could keep it a secret like I always have and just keep living, but you would've seen to it. I'm sorry for not telling you, Pelleas."

"I'm sorry for ever doubting you–or the laguz, or the Branded. It–it—I suppose it was just how I was raised, though that's no real excuse..." Pelleas said.

"I forgive you," she said. "Now you need to learn forgive yourself. You've begun to change, that's the important part."

Pelleas' voice was low as he spoke again.

"But that's not all...Do you know that there was this pair–this vicious pair who were saying that you were marrying me for my money–How could they say such a thing, Micaiah?"

She kneeled on the floor and touched the door. "Why would you listen to such awful things? They're just gossiping harpies."

"I wanted this wedding to be good for you. And then things kept happening, the fur, the meat, Soren getting kidnapped...I convinced myself that if the wedding was good enough, then maybe _I'd_ be good enough...But, I'm not strong, and I'm not dashing...Soren brings home this handsome boyfriend–the kind of guy father always wanted us to be–and all I can think is that maybe you'd rather have someone like him. Someone who's...well, strong."

"I've dated guys like that before and it's not what I want. It's _you_ I want to be married to, you I chose."

"But you're so beautiful and kind and wonderful and graceful and...wonderful. Sometimes I wonder what you see in me at all."

"You have a good heart," she said. "You're kind and gentle despite all the cruelty you grew up with."

"I...I guess I'm just being a fool."

"Obviously," Soren cut in. "Now if you don't get out of there now, I will have Ike break down the door and physically carry you out. I will find shotguns if necessary because we are _not_ rescheduling this wedding no matter how insecure you're feeling. The catering alone took five months to book."

The door slowly opened. Pelleas stepped out sheepishly. He bit his lip and looked down, abashed. "I'm...I'm sorry. I think I had an attack of nerves."

"Pelleas, if this isn't right for you, I won't force you," Micaiah said.

"I _will_," Soren said.

"Oh no, it's not cold feet! I always wanted to marry you. I just wasn't sure if I deserved it."

"You both perfectly _deserve_ each other," Soren spat out.

"Yes, we do," Micaiah said, fondness filling her voice.

She reached out and embraced him. He nuzzled close against her, his hands in her pale hair.

"Please don't leave again," Pelleas murmured into her hair.

"...I can't promise I'll never leave. I'm going to live a long time...but I promise that I will be by your side for as long as I live."

"Micaiah, I–"

Their reunion was cut short by a shriek, and Almedha rushing into the room.

"What are you doing out of the hospital?" Almedha said.

Soren couldn't exactly claim he had been released early, considering that he still wore the hospital gown and had the IV trailing beside him.

"We were saving a wedding," Ike said.

Almedha turned her attention to where Pelleas and Micaiah were. They no longer embraced, but stood close and hand in hand.

"I suppose I owe you thanks for bringing my son home," she said in a clipped tone.

Almedha seemed to bite back whatever cutting remark about protesters she had been thinking of beforehand to give her begrudging gratitude.

"Micaiah is Branded," Pelleas said. "And I...I'm not going to go around hiding it or trying to excuse it."

"I may have quite a few complaints against her, but her bloodline wasn't one of them. Your brother is Branded as well," she said.

"Soren is...What about me?" Pelleas said.

"You're adopted," Almedha said dismissively.

Pelleas paled, and Micaiah rubbed his back in a soothing gesture. He looked as if his knees might buckle at this realization.

Ike and carried Soren out to the hall, unnoticed in the last commotion as the rest of Micaiah's group had come in to greet the group.

"And there you have it," Soren said. "All the deep family secrets."

"Did you know?" Ike asked.

"Yes," Soren said. "I had a suspicion and had a blood test done when I took over the company. Needless to say, I kept it from the public eye. Consorting with laguz is hardly looked well upon in Daein."

"I can guess," Ike said.

"The question is, do you wish to continue your contract in lieu of this?" Soren asked.

"What? You're firing me?" Ike asked incredulously.

"No. I am offering the possibility of an early leave if the thought of being near a Branded is something you find loathsome. As long as you kept to the contact of silence on matters of what you witnessed in the Keep, you will be able to leave and go back to your life. I could fabricate some fight and have Kyza purchase some plane tickets back to Crimea before the weekend is over."

"Soren–I ran around in your father's _dungeons_. If I can handle that, I think I can handle that your mother is a laguz. I don't care about any of this–your parent's history, whatever."

"All right," Soren said softly.

**.**

Ike had rescued him from the family dungeons, met his family, found out his bloodline and seen him in a hospital gown. As if that wasn't enough, he also helped Soren dress.

They'd had to cut off large pieces of the tux, much to Soren's annoyance, which meant he'd never get his deposit back on it. Had only his legs been broken, he might've been able to make it on crutches, but as it was, he could only go via a wheelchair.

"You don't have to do this," Soren said. "I paid you to be an ersatz lover and to put up with my family, not a nurse."

"You can't exactly wheel yourself. You can't even make it on crutches like this," Ike said. "Besides, I don't mind."

"This goes beyond the contract," Soren muttered.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to pay me extra then," Ike said with a slight smile. "It's okay to need people sometimes."

Soren didn't reply.

"You don't have to do everything. The wedding is going to go fine. You did a great job setting it all up. So, take your pain killers, Soren," Ike said. "It's the least you can do, considering you aren't even supposed to be out of the hospital yet."

"No," Soren said through gritted teeth. He'd been in pain since he'd woken up, but he found the painkillers had a side effect of making him drowsy.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Ike said.

"Are you _ordering_ me?" Soren asked incredulously.

Ike bent until he was on his level.

"Trust me. I'll take care of everything. You've been through enough pain, and I don't want to see you go through anymore."

Soren looked to where he held the pills in his calloused hands.

"Fine," he said. Ike helped put the pills in his mouth, and gave him a little water from an old half-drunk water bottle he had lying around.

"Let's go," Soren said.

Ike wheeled him out.

It was only fitting that one of Ashnard's children would have armed guards at his wedding. This decision wasn't the bride or the groom's doing, but Almedha's own influence, despite Micaiah's protests in the matter.

However, they were contracted at short notice, which tended to involve bridesmaids and flower girls getting large guns shoved in their faces amidst demands of identification.

"And you are?" Said the guard in question. He was a beefy looking man in dark sunglasses, and wore no nametag.

"I'm with the best man," Ike said

"I don't see you on the list," the guard said.

"No, you don't understand. We're co-best men," Ike said.

The usher looked as if for a moment he might contest that claim, but Soren cut in.

"He's with me. Now, if you want to keep your current contract and ever be hired again, I'd advise you let us in."

"So be it," he said instead with a curt wave.

Ike wheeled them up to the front where it looked like Pelleas might faint. There was murmuring through the crowd, but Soren didn't look back. The bridal march was played by Sothe and some of the bridesmen, who apparently moonlit in a band. Soren kept checking for a watch which he no longer had–it had been ruined in the dungeons. He could already feel the drug setting in. Ike moved his wrist so Soren could check the clock on his plain blue sports watch which was turned inwards.

But finally, after Tormod's guitar solo which made some of the audience flip up lighters in appreciation, the bride came.

Through stained glass windows fell ethereal light down over the bride as she came in. Pelleas looked at her in wonder, in her all-natural organically grown hemp wedding dress and white flowers braided into her pale hair. The veil was the same one his mother had worn, made of Goldoan silken fibers woven together with intricate patterns of roses of damask.

The flowers were a mix of white roses with a splash of baby's breath. The bride and groom looked nervously to each other–or at least Pelleas did. Micaiah radiated a serenity which seemed infectious. She adeptly put the bouquet in one hand, and took his hand in the other.

It was unconventional, but it was better than having the groom faint.

Everything became a blur after that. He knew he was slumping over onto Ike, too tired to keep his eyes open.

The side effects had come in, just as he had expected. His last conscious thought was that it was all up to Ike now, a thought that should've made him far more anxious than it did.

**.**

He woke up in the reception. He blinked several times. A few people were on the dance floor slow dancing; Pelleas was not one of them. Soren wondered if there had been some event of tripping which cut short the traditional dance by the groom and bride. Sothe and a few of the other bridesmen were playing a slow song, while Tormod crooned a love song into the microphone, occasionally cutting meaningful glance towards Sothe.

"Ike–" Soren said, looking about him. For all purposes, it seemed empty save for an elderly couple he didn't recognize, but was surely some distant family three tables down.

"It's okay, I'm right here," Ike said.

Soren saw him now, moving into view and pulling up a folding chair to sit beside the wheelchair.

"What did I miss?" Soren asked.

"Some vows and stuff. Cake cutting. I got a piece for you," Ike said. He pushed a piece of white cake with gold trim towards Soren.

"And the best man's speech?" Soren asked.

"I made it," Ike said.

"You...made it?" Soren said.

"Yup," Ike said. "No need to worry."

This only made Soren worry all the more. However, what was done was done. It would be the ultimate intrusion to have a stranger who wouldn't return not just take part in the festivities and be in the pictures, but now to give a speech about people he barely knew, and had by far seen the worst of them during this wedding.

Still Soren gave a curt nod, which was as close to a thanks as Ike was getting.

"Almedha was lamenting that she wouldn't be able to keep up some tradition of best men and their significant others dancing, or something."

Soren snorted. "Ignoring the fact that I can't walk, you'd step on my toes. It'd be a disaster."

"Probably," Ike said.

"_Probably_?" Soren said. "Are you hiding some ballroom dancing talent?"

"Nope. But we'd never know how it'd go until we try, right?" Ike asked.

"True," Soren said curtly.

"Hard to believe it's over already," Ike said.

"Yes, you'll be going in the morning. You performed admirably. Far better than I had hoped, in truth," Soren said.

"That's good," Ike said. He trailed off.

Soren noticed something in his lap. A bouquet of white roses with a splash of baby's breath.

"You caught the bouquet?"

"No, you did, actually. It fell into your lap," Ike said. "I offered to let her throw it again, but she said you'd won it fair and share."

Soren groaned. "This will start an endless prattle about us getting married."

"You already missed a lot of that," Ike said. "Your mother apparently plans baby names when she gets drunk. And talks too much about what she dislikes in her new daughter-in-law."

"At least she wasn't one of those histrionic brides they make reality television shows about," Soren said.

"Yeah, at least that," Ike said.

They fell silent. There was little left to be said in a contract which would expire when the clock turned midnight. Soren couldn't help thinking that Ike's comment _you never know until you try_ had far more than dancing in mind.

"Well...It'll be time for more painkillers soon, anyways. Don't worry about the rest of it. We've held on until now, so we'll hang on a little longer. You being okay is the most important part," Ike said.

"I suppose," Soren said grudgingly. Relinquishing control was the hardest part. However, Ike had proven himself to be loyal to his contract and a surprisingly good example of humanity at that.

"But first, you should have some cake. I have to admit, it's pretty good. And I don't even like sweets that much," Ike said.

Ike lifted up the plastic fork, and Soren took a bite. It was humiliating, but the past days had been a series of humiliations, and this was no worse than say, seeing him in a hospital gown.

Ike was right. It was good. Not with the usual too-sweet taste of cakes used for such celebrations. It was organic, vegan, and had a more tart, natural taste. He could taste the hint of nutmeg.

He grimaced as the pain started up again. A few pills later and he was spiraling towards unconsciousness again. In his sleepy haze, the room became blurred like city lights at night from a distance. The love song faded into soft sounds. Only the feel of Ike's hand upon his shoulder felt constant.

**.**

Ike went in the next plane out. Soren wasn't there to say goodbye at the airport because, after all, he was just an employee, and besides, he had an appointment of some doctor or other scheduled at the same time.

It didn't matter, regardless. Ike was out of his life, his purpose fulfilled.

Soren stayed in Daein and ran the company more or less from his room at home. He would return to the main headquarters as soon as he was all healed, but for now even traveling would be a hassle not worth going through, no matter how much he disliked staying in his ancestral home.

He heard word that Lethe had gone into rehabilitation with heron songs to try and soothe the rage within her. He heard that Pelleas and Micaiah were happily honeymooning in a new resort in Kilvas. He watched over his company, filtered his commands through various assistants while his battered body slowly began to heal.

He didn't hear anything about Ike. Or from him, for that matter. Soren didn't exactly expect Ike to send him holiday greeting cards, but he still noticed this lack.

He had only known Ike a few weeks, but Ike had fit so seamlessly even throughout it all that was hard to remember at times. It felt as if they had known each other a long time, and Ike could read his every cue.

But in the end, Ike had just been a surprisingly good actor in these affair and a good bodyguard. That was that.

**.**

The pictures came in a week after Soren came off the painkillers. The chipper photographer delivered them personally, with little warning for that matter, except her barging in.

She pink hair in a pixie cut, and enough spunk to already make Soren hate her by default. She wore a little white mini-dress and strappy white sandals, and little gold bangles on her left wrist.

"Here's the wedding photos, just like you asked. And isn't that scrapbook cute? I bet the bride will love it when she returns." She giggled at this, though Soren saw no joke, or anything remotely humorous.

His casts still weren't off, so he motioned for an assistant to bring him the book of photos in question. The assistant was somewhat slow, and had on multiple instances, completely gotten requests wrong. Soren was too tired to hire another one at this rate, and for one tolerated incompetence.

He couldn't help thinking that Ike would had done a far better job.

The photographer took an annoyed glance at the phone. "Oh, crackers. I need to take this. Just check out the cute scrapbook I made your family while you wait!"

The assistant flipped open to the first page.

The medication had some nasty side effects which had knocked him out for most of the weddings, and most of the last three weeks as he His most lucid memory of the wedding was of the stained glass windows, with their myths of gods and legends staring down at him. He did remember some of the reception at least.

There was Ike feeding him something soft, another was Soren being wheeled across the room to a quieter corner. He had sat next to Pelleas, of course, so they both appeared in many photos (though, Soren suspected that the photographer might have been enjoying Ike a little too much).

Soren traced across the plastic. In many of them Ike was leaning over him protectively, or allowing Soren to rest against him. In the pictures, Soren had two black eyes, several bruises, and quite a few cuts bandaged over. In all of them where they appeared, he was being supported, carried, allowed to lean on. Ike had certainly gone above the line of duty.

With several curses said in a sugary sweet voice, the photographer cut the call short and then came back to them.

"Sooorry about that. I hope you like the pictures. Oh, here's the wedding video, if you wanna see it. You were out like a light by that time, but you can see plenty of that hunk of yours." She tittered as she handed him a disk.

The video started with Ike tapping a knife to his champagne glass. Soren was passed out beside him, and Ike took one last glance towards him, before he cleared his throat and began.

IYou've all probably heard that Soren went through a tough time, getting kidnapped and all, and won't be giving the speech. So, I'm doing it for him. I think it's what he would've wanted./I

Ike rustled out a paper and held it up. II could read off what he said, but I don't think Soren had quite fixed on what he wanted to say, and because he's a perfectionist who doesn't like dealing with other people too much, he'd probably just be ticked off if I read this./I

The microphone squeaked and people in the crowd cringed. Soren, having a certain weakness to high pitches winced too.

IFirst impressions. On first impression, you'd think Pelleas was the sort of guy you wouldn't want for your football team, and Micaiah seems like some tree hugging hippie. And Soren comes off someone who is entirely cold

I think Soren cares far more than he lets on. He worked hard on this wedding not just because he's a perfectionist, but because he wanted the best for his little brother. /I

A nervous chuckle ran through the room, but Ike didn't seem to notice the atmosphere.

IEvery family has skeletons in the closet...and in this case, they're of the literal variety, but I think what's important is...is how much this family has survived through the hardest of times. And this couple too. Through kidnapping and fights and protests and differences of blood–they worked all through that and still love each other and that's a real bond there./I

Ike lifted his glass and nodded. ISo, I know I'm a stranger to most of you, but I think I can speak for Soren when I say that I wish you a long, happy time together and that I fully expect you two will find it./I

The group clapped. The photographer came up behind him and put it on pause. Ike was just reaching down to check on Soren again in the video, and his image was frozen just as he was gently touching Soren's shoulder with a tender glance his way.

"It's...sufficient," Soren said.

"Sufficient?" The photographer said incredulously. "I'd say it's top notch, but–"

"You've been paid, this is sufficient, it's all you need to know," Soren snapped. She looked taken aback.

"Well, fonduey. Who rained on your parade?" she said.

Soren just glared at her.

"I'll just be going, then. Remember, it's Rainbow Pegasus Photography if you have any more weddings you want photographed." She winked at this.

There was a tightness in his chest. He ordered the assistant to turn off the TV and the image of Ike with his gentle gaze and touch disappeared.

**.**

It took a couple months until the casts came off, but when they were, he happily dismissed the assistant. He had a new watch now, new phone and even new model of laptop to replace the old one which still worked fine, but wasn't quite as good as the new model.

Pelleas and Micaiah came back, but instead of moving into the keep, moved in with the rest of the group of protesters they hung out with. For a while, Soren thought this might mean his mother would spend the rest of her life now focused on this slight and not minding his love life, but it wasn't to be.

She kept bringing it up. _When are you bringing that fine young man of yours back?_

The words were there. It would be so simple to say _We broke up_ but Soren couldn't bring himself to say it.

All he could reply was _I'm too busy_ as if implying that some thread of connection between Ike and him still existed.

**.**

Soren hadn't expected there to be a welcoming committee in his office. He'd already been back a week.

There was a little banner above his desk. It was a little late for a welcome back party, but Kyza was always in the habit of being 'fashionably late'.

He frowned when he saw the banner.

"Intervention?" Soren asked.

"The path of true love never did run smooth, so we're doing construction. _Love construction_," Kyza said.

"You can't just let him go," Ranulf said.

"As it is, I can't believe you'd let that dreamy hunk out of your sight. He saved you! It was so romantic," Kyza said.

Ranulf gave Kyza a look.

"But he's not cuter than you, sir," Kyza said and patted Ranulf on the shoulder.

"He was an employee like any other. He played his part surprisingly well and proved himself a good actor, and now our contract has finished," Soren said evenly.

"Come on, boss. You know Ike can't act. He couldn't even pull off some grade-school skit, let alone a complex thing like this," Ranulf said. "Ike says whatever he feels. He's blunt and lacks any kind of artifice. Whatever he showed you during this role, that was how he felt."

"He took a blow to the chest for you. All the time you were gone, all he wanted was to get you back. When Ranulf, Micaiah and I were ready to give up, he was still charging into the dirtiest parts of your family's past to find you," Kyza said.

Soren thought back, remembering moments: The Frost Fair, and how they had so easily emulated the teasing playfulness of a couple; the moment of the faked kiss where he had pressed their foreheads together; the gentle concerned expression on the tape.

It left him unsettled, feeling as if something had been stripped away from himself. He rubbed at his arms reflexively, as if he was chilled.

"I've known him for years and can honestly say that there isn't a better guy out there," Ranulf said.

"I want you out of my office," he said in a quiet, severe manner.

"All right, boss," Ranulf said, a little sadly. "If that's what you want."

"It is," Soren said.

Kyza reached up and took the banner, while Ranulf opened the door for him, and they left together.

Soren sat down at his desk. For a long while he just sat there staring at his screen. The words and stats became an unreadable blob before him. He felt unfocused. He had never asked for this to grow between them. He hadn't intended to see Ike as anything but a temporary employee. And yet...

Lies or not, they'd been a good complement to each other. Ike had survived his family, and the unexpected turns that came with the wedding. He'd proven himself in more ways than one. It would be folly to let someone like Ike get away–not when he'd proven himself to be such a viable employee...and more.

No, he would keep Ike close.

A plan began to form inside his mind. He opened up a word processor program and began to start the first paragraph of a new contract.

**.**

As it was, Ike was still making ends meet on marginal low-paying jobs. It didn't take much to find him, a night shift at a grocery in Melior, a lumber store, and whatever other jobs he could get. The house was saved, but there was still college education for his sister and keeping up the bills.

Soren walked in that day, to the faint scent of wood and concrete in the lumber store. Ike hadn't quite looked up from his job, saying only "How can I help you?" when Soren held out the contract he'd spent a good portion of the night working on.

"I have a proposition to make," Soren said.

"Oh, hello Soren," Ike said casually. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"It's a detour," Soren admitted.

"Well, I didn't think you were looking for screws," Ike said.

If Ranulf was there, he'd surely have something to say about that. As he wasn't, the joke went unsaid.

"As you'll see in the contract, I found your conduct satisfactory, and would like to retain you as a bodyguard."

He pushed forward the contract, and Ike began to read through it, frowning in concentration. He wore a blue smock with the logo on it over his clothes, with a carpenter's belt and carpenter's jeans. Hammers hung from the loops, and the belt was fitted with screwdrivers, wrenches, and other assortment of tools.

Ike was a slow reader, and took his time going through the contract. It was in the middle of the day, when business was apparently slow, so they were not interrupted.

He got to one point which he seemed to reread several times.

"A clause on no dating?" Ike asked, looking questioningly up at Soren.

"I feel strongly on this issue, and it is non-negotiable. Lovers and families would simply become weaknesses should any issue arise again," Soren said.

"...you know, if you wanted to ask me out, you could have you know just _asked._ For the record, I would've said yes," Ike said.

Soren blushed–something he hadn't expected. He didn't blush like a schoolgirl. Then again, he didn't do a lot of things. Like trust people. And here he was, bridging that gap and putting it all on the line.

"That is..." He cleared his throat.

"You too, huh?" Ike said.

"Excuse me?" Soren said.

"Ranulf has been telling me I needed to get with you and that we were meant to be...stuff like that," Ike said. "He even gave me tips."

"He and Kyza staged an intervention," Soren said.

"Sounds like them," Ike said with a grin. "So, how about we go over this contract over dinner? My sister makes a mean casserole. Except with her, it literally is mean in a stomach ache causing way."

Soren bit his lip, but couldn't quite hide the hint of a smile at Ike's pathetic attempt at humor.

"I will have to check my schedule," he said automatically. It was his default response to every invitation, no matter of what importance. He already knew that he had absolutely nothing planned and would accept this invitation quite soon, but protocol was protocol.

"Until then, you know where we live," Ike said. "I guess I don't exactly have to give directions."

"No, that would be unnecessary," Soren murmured.

"All right, good. I'll be waiting," Ike said.

He might have said more, but a customer came in at that moment. And Ike was loyal. He was going to finish out that last day of work no matter what. Ike didn't hear Soren's quiet _I'll be there_ before he slipped out. Last he saw, Ike was guiding the middle-aged woman in back for 2x4s. When Soren got back to his car, he took several deep breaths trying to take it all in.

Just one talk and his life had changed. But then, no. His life had slowly begun to change with every little first. The first interview, the first time he'd ever made a snow angel, the first time he'd ever been at ease.

These little steps were hard to take, but he knew in this case he would regret it if he let Ike out of his life. He was more than just a valuable employee, he was many possibilities Soren could barely bring himself to consider.

It was too sudden, too soon, but Soren forced the anxiety down and moved on.

He'd survived torture, kidnappings, living with a tyrant and some of the most cutthroat business meetings in the business. He could survive meeting Ike's family. After all, Ike had met his and seen just about every bad thing in they'd hidden away in the process.

At the very least, Soren didn't think he'd be kidnapped on the way. Though he knew that if he was, Ike would get him back. Ike had proven that much, at least.

**.**

Soren parked outside the house for a long time before going in. It was a large house, one that apparently housed quite a few people, as it looked like a whole halfway house was contained inside. He noticed some people who resembled the group he'd seen in the photo of Ike's: a green-haired man who squinted out into the fading day as he watered the roses; a man with long red hair swaying a little drunkenly along with a more stout barrel-chested friend he was leaning on and who seemed just as drunk as he was; a tall, statuesque redhead who carried in something heavy while a more delicate man in a cleric's frock followed behind her, his apologetic, sickly manner reminding Soren of Pelleas.

When he finally knocked on the door, a cheerful younger boy opened it. He had green hair and was wearing a forest green t-shirt about a camp for archery and a pair of very short shorts of a lighter lime green color.

"Miiiist, he's here!" The boy called back.

Mist was wearing a yellow sundress partly hidden behind an apron with a lot of frilly and a floral pattern. She still had a ladle in hand.

"It's about time Ike brought you home! Jill told me he had someone, and he didn't even tell us at all. I'm still mad at you for that, by the way," his sister said.

Ike appeared from out of the living room. He was out of his smock and in more casual clothes of ripped jeans, his camouflage shirt and orange sneakers. He smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt, and smiled at Soren.

"Come on in," Ike said. "Don't mind her, she's just being a busybody."

"Am not," she said. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"I suppose this is your revenge," Soren said in an undertone.

"Revenge?" Ike asked, one brow raised.

"I introduce you to my crazy family, and you do likewise," Soren said.

"Actually I think that's called _dating_," Ike said.

"Well, either way the first hardly counted," Soren said.

"I think it counted. I wouldn't have gone with you if I didn't like you," Ike said.

While he had been in his casts, Soren had wondered what counted among the moments. But Ike had answered the question succinctly before he even raised it. _Every single one_.

Ike led them to the living room. The tv had on a basketball game that Ike muted. Soren studied the room with his hand folded behind his back, gazing extra long at at pastoral paintings of flowers done in watercolor. He assumed a family member had done them. Despite their brightness, they seemed to cast a solemn, even nostalgic pallor over the house.

"My mother did those," Ike said. "I think she'd have liked you...both of them would, really."

"My father would probably like you. He always did like well-muscled men," Soren said absently. "Then again, he hated heroes and protestors, so I'm not sure your physique would cancel out what he would consider 'your failings'."

"I don't think we'd get along," Ike said with a wry smile.

"No one much did," Soren said.

The topic shifted as a they settled on other things. A picture on the mantle caught Soren's eye, and Ike took it down.

"This is Oscar," he said. He pointed to the green-haired man he had seen tend to the rosebushes earlier.

"He's the oldest of the brothers. Second oldest is Boyd," he said. He pointed to a green-haired boy

"And that's Rolf, the youngest."

Soren recognized the boy who had opened the door for him.

Ike went through the names, one by one. Rhys was the fragile man in a cleric's cossack; Titania the tall redhead who had carried the things inside; Shinon the drunken man, and Gatrie his companion. He'd already met Mist, and said as much before Ike could introduce her.

"Are they...cousins?" Soren asked. "Uncles and aunts? Otherwise related?"

"No, they're not blood related. Only Mist is. But they're still family," Ike said.

"I see," Soren said.

It seemed the late Greil had a habit of collecting strays.

"You're going to get a lot of questions. Shinon is prickly, so it's best to just ignore him, especially if he's drunk, which he is most of the time. The rest should be okay, though," Ike said.

"Last time, I did the coaching," Soren noted.

"This isn't really coaching it's just...okay, it's sort of coaching," Ike said.

Soren looked up as they were called in. Most of the faces that greeted him were curious, open and kind, save for Shinon who looked hostile and about to pass out on the table.

"You'll be paying me back for this next week for the celebratory ball my mother is hosting," Soren muttered.

"I'll be looking forward to it," Ike said.

Soren snorted. "You hate balls."

"But you'll be there, so it'll be tolerable at the very least," Ike said.

The table was set out for guests. A leaf had even been added, and yet it was still quite a snug fit. Soren was seated beside Ike, and his arm kept brushing Soren's. It was quite a distraction, which set a strange light feeling inside him.

Every time Soren would will himself not to look to Ike, but each time would fail. Rolf giggled at this, and Mist joined in. Soren focused dourly on his plate.

Ike remained oblivious as ever in regards to the amusement of the rest of the table.

Rhys said some sort of grace, wherein hand holding was involved. Soren closed his eyes. He had never been religious in the least, but could at the very least be civil to Rhys's beliefs. He was more focused on the feel of Ike's hand in his, rough and warm with the thumb stroking his inner palm.

After the prayer they held hands for ten whole seconds longer than necessary. They might've even held longer had Rolf not giggled again and Mist leveled a knowing look at them.

Soren cleared his throat and rearranged his napkin and fork until it was perfectly aligned. Ike continued to not get the awkwardness of the situation–he had a genuine talent for this, Soren thought wrly.

"So how did you two meet?" Mist asked.

Ike and Soren both exchanged a glance. Mist knew about Ike's employment history and knew that being a waiter wasn't something he'd done a lot of.

"We..." Soren began, searching for the words to explain this away.

"...Met at a wedding," Ike finished for him.

They shared a smile, a beginning. One of the first of many in-jokes to start between them.

Everyone at the table seemed satisfied at this answer, except Shinon who simply seemed inebriated and sullen. It seemed such a warm, comforting place by comparison to the Keep. Ike's hand brushed his under the table–an accident, or a secret between them? He wondered then, if all the earlier bumps and touches had been intentional, as well. Soren turned to him, questioning, but Ike didn't say anything, didn't reveal if it meant it or if it was a nice happenstance. He just smiled. The warm feeling welled up in Soren again.

There were so many possibilities ready to unfold. It made him anxious because the world was filled with uncaring, cruel people. To say nothing of the uncaring cruel tyrant who had raised him and used him as a pawn, wrecked his mother's mental health for the sake of some amusement.

One day he would tell Ike. One day...

But if anyone was worth trying to trust, Ike was the one. He knew that much for sure.


	7. Coda

Title: Frost Fair (coda)  
Series: FE10  
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren, Pelleas/Micaiah, Kyza/Ranulf. Appearances by Lethe and Reyson.  
Rating: PG-13  
Author's note: I didn't outright intend to write an epilogue, but it wrote itself after some discussion, apparently. Enjoy one last bit?

Thanks to Joss for the lightning quick beta.

1.  
They were lounged about on the wooden floor, a blanket set down and a picnic basket filled with savory things Kyza and Ranulf had each taken parts in cooking. And, of course, wine. There was always that in excess.

"And to think, you've worked here all of three years now," Kyza said. "You should get benefits for putting up with the boss and his pedantic ways."

"If I remember correctly, you thought I was crazy for going to work for Ashnard's kid," Ranulf said. He raised one brow.

Kyza shifted. "Not crazy. Just...reckless. "

"Really? You said I was pretty crazy last night," Ranulf said. He waggled his eyebrows, and Kyza laughed.

"You're crazy in the best ways, Captain," Kyza replied.

"Oh, don't you know it." Ranulf shrugged. "Really though... you know how I said Ike convinced me that all beorc aren't bad? When I saw this one, I got the vibe. Not quite the same as Ike in he still didn't trust me–but I knew he'd treat me the same as anyone else as a worker. By which I mean, he'd work me into the ground."

"Well, he certainly lived up to that," Kyza said lightly.

"I guess...I wanted to challenge myself. See if I could take having a beorc boss. Going through the job fair that day, I knew he was the one to try even before I realized who he was. I didn't expect you to come along, though."

"I would follow you to the ends of the earth, Captain. You know that," Kyza said.

"It's good to know," Ranulf said. "Especially when I've got some hare-brained scheme in order."

"Those are always the best," Kyza said.

2.

Lethe stared out of the window. There were no forests, only rocky cliffs. She could smell the sea, the birds. She felt exposed here–it was a haven for birds, not Gallians.

The knock sounded, and she didn't dignify it with a response. The heron swept in. This one always seemed fiercer than the others. His gaze was intense, not gentle. She liked this one better. He had an inner fire, as opposed to the gentler sister who still couldn't speak modern tongue, or the older brother who seemed so timid.

"You of all people shouldn't be telling me that I'm wrong," she spat out. "The boy deserved it."

"Most beorc do," he said.

She turned on him. "Then why are you _defending_ them? You of all people should hate them for what they did to your people!"

"I have learned that not all beorc are bad," he said.

"I can't forget the smell of the blood," she said. "I can't forget what they did to her."

"You should never forget the blood of your people," he said. "_Never._"

"Then what do you want me to do?" She said.

"You should live," he said.

It had not started out like this. Years ago, she would've swiftly killed him, like the Gallian warrior she was. But the moment she went into the lower caverns, all she could smell was blood–Lyre's blood, laguz blood–and all she could think of was causing as much pain as Lyre had felt, as much pain as she had known.

He lifted his lyre and strummed the first lines as he began to sing. The song washed over her in waves. It was not a sudden epiphany. Violins did not play in orchestra; she did not let go of her hate. But something within her began to give.

She remembered that last conversation before she had left. _I don't want you dead or a martyr, Lethe! I want you here and alive, why can't you understand that?_

Revenge was her pride as a Gallian warrior. But the one she had sought to kill had already been felled. She let out a cry as he sang. It was a cry of released rage, of mourning for every laguz that died by beorc hands. For her sister, for herself. She screamed with dry eyes as the heron sang on.

It was the first step towards healing.

3.

Pelleas had been quiet since they had returned. He was huddled on the couch with comfort food, looking as if he might be suffering a minor crisis. She felt his tinges of jealousy, how convinced he was of his inadequacy as deeply as if it were her own thoughts, her own feelings.

"You're unhappy again," Micaiah said.

"No, it's just–"

Micaiah sighed. "It's you I love. _You_."

"I know. It's just. She was so charming and _dashing_ and I think she swept me off my feet a little too. She even gave you her number."

"I politely told her I was married. She proceeded to hit it off with Fiona," Micaiah said.

"Yes..." Pelleas said.

"I see I needed to amend vows," she said. She took a deep breath. "I, Micaiah, promise not to get swept off my feet by roguish lesbian thieves," she said. "No matter how dashing they prove to be."

Pelleas smiled and took her hands in his. "I promise to love no one as much as I love you. Ever. Really, I don't and never will–"

"I know," she said.

4.

Soren was still getting used to things like physical affection. Or the concept of affection at all. Other people did it so easily. He envied them, truly. Boyd and Mist could so easily just slip their hands one in the other, or kiss between laughter.

With Soren, it was all awkwardness. He spent the entire movie in a state of stiffness, wondering how the moments would count down. It was something with car explosions–Ike enjoyed it, apparently. But the time spent on the way home, Soren began to clam up.

"You're doing it again," Ike said.

Soren didn't reply.

"Listen, Soren, this isn't a contest. There's no winning or losing."

Had he gleaned that much, just from his silences? Soren still was so new to this. It couldn't be taken apart and fixed like mechanics.

"I want you to kiss me," Soren said in his most determined voice. He steeled himself, and lifted his chin.

Soren kept his eyes open, sure that he would bump their noses together if not. Ike stroked Soren's cheek. His calloused hands were a contrast to how gentle the gesture was. When he brought their lips together, Soren almost wondered why he had been nervous about this in the first. On the surface it was a simple thing of bodily connection and need, and yet somehow it seemed different. As if his kiss would be any different from all the others through history.

It felt good. Soren wanted to strip it down to nerves, to list it as simple bodily reactions. But his heart beat in spite of himself. Inside him, it came in ways he had not expected.

"I don't trust people. I don't open up, I don't like people in general and my family is a train wreck," Soren said. It tumbled out. It wasn't like he planned. When he told Ike, he wanted to rational. This was anything but.

Ike smiled. "I know all this already, remember?"

"I want to, though. I want to open up and trust, but only for you, Ike. I hope you understand."

"I do," Ike said.

He offered his hand and Soren took it. He leaned into Ike, as if the emotional weight of admitting this was exhausting.

"You don't have to worry about it. We're doing fine. I'm new at this too, remember?" Ike said. "Everything is going to be all right."

Had anyone else said it, he would've scoffed at their idealism. But with Ike, he could hope, he could believe.

They walked into the night. It was unhurried. Soren found for a night that had started awkwardly, he now didn't want it to end. He bowed his head and muttered a goodnight.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Soren said. It was half question, half statement.

Ike nodded. "Yeah, tomorrow."

The second kiss was a surprise. Brief, but intense. They parted slowly, and Soren clung onto Ike's shirt, twisting it in his grasp.

"I just really wanted to do that," Ike said.

Soren rested his head against Ike's chest. "I wanted you to do that..."

"Then we're even," Ike said.

Soren nodded, but didn't let go of his shirt.

"You know, you could stay–"

Soren tensed.

"–here. I'd sleep on the couch. We could watch old movies together, or something," Ike said.

It wasn't technically their first date, but their fourth. Soren found each one more nerve-racking than the last, even as Ike had been patient and hadn't pushed for contact. Soren found everything tumbling out again.

"–I find the act of dating like a farce, an act. I'd rather stay up with you and watch old movies or even football things than this charade," Soren said.

"Fine by me. I wasn't big into the idea, but Ranulf and Mist said I was a cheap creep if I didn't," Ike said. He shrugged. "I thought it was how things were supposed to go."

"...Then yes, I would be happy to watch old movies with you," Soren said.

"I'll pop some popcorn," Ike said.

Soren finally let go of Ike's shirt, and smoothed the creases he had made there. He kept his hands a moment too long there, resting on Ike's chest, and then pulled them away too quick and awkwardly.

They went inside and for the first time in a long time, Soren felt more comfortable with himself. He didn't seek out space from Ike, but allowed their arms to brush as Ike turned on something very old–apparently a screwball comedy from the twenties.

"I never would've guessed this would be your choice," Soren said dryly.

Ike smiled. "You have a lot to learn about me."

Soren found himself looking forward to it.


End file.
